Shorts

Life In The Cove

Life turns into blog entries that tend to turn into chapters of a book about life. Art in the pretense of “Art”. No conspiracy theories here.

24 February 2009

What is a novel?

While waiting at a local haircut shop this morning, I skimmed through a copy of a popular news magazine that commemorated the recent U.S. Presidential inauguration. I glanced through the articles in the special edition portion of the magazine, getting a feeling of deja vu, knowing that the stories about the new President were nearly identical to the articles from a copy of Life magazine I have that commemorated an equally “maverick” President in the early 1960s. Nothing is new under the sun — it’s just repackaged and sold to the next generation.

As I moved out of the special edition section and into the regular features of the magazine, I found an article about the current state of the “NOVEL,” that great and glorious epitome of civilization that proves the right of literacy to call itself the culmination of human evolution. Well, like all evolving things, the jury’s out the revolving door on the format of the novel. Seems like the Japanese craze for miniature things electronic, including handheld wireless walkie-talkies (i.e., cell phones), has sparked a new craze for equally-small novels. Thus, literature, instant gratification and attention deficit syndrome have finally mated (in an era where a ménage à trois can, with the aid of genetic manipulation, result in an entirely new species) and created the mini-masterpiece. In the meantime, self-publishing continues to grow in self-respect, joining fan fiction in the need for knowledge to be free.

Thus, as a kid, while reading cartoon stories (oops, I mean classic tales like Ivanhoe that we would now call graphic novels), I saw the advent of the online novel. Hell, that’s why I’m here, isn’t it, cranking out my own stories in this little mishmash mashup virtual shop of horribly written novels.

I have always kept a copy of Thomas Payne’s Common Sense beside my writing desk. He was the pamphleteer who inspired me to care about my writing, infusing it with meaning while using concise language. In him, I saw that the desire to write is truly a manifest destiny wherein that which we call a self is not fully reflected in a mirror but sometimes also reflected in the use of words, the toolset given to us by our forebears to show to ourselves and others that we exist outside time and place. A hall of funhouse mirrors, if you will, with embedded webcams to capture our fleeting facial expressions.

Isn’t that what a novel really is, anyway? An exaggeration of our vanity? An image we can laugh at or with, depending on our point of view? Emmett Kelly incarnate, a sad-faced clown looking back at us, with Pathos and Irony leaning against his shoulders?

The answer, of course, is yes.

Therefore, my novels reflect me, a user of mainly Western European languages, who writes outside the mainstream. I do not write specifically for others, although Muses do catch my attention and give me the strength to write when I feel too depressed to move. I write for me. I write to me. I fall in love with the idea of reading my writing everytime I open this blog. I crave the next woid I put down on paper (“woid” = ode to Dorothy Parker). Well, actually, I use paper so little now that paper has become my pocket shorthand, little guideposts I write to myself to remind me what I did on a certain day, in hopes that the zeitgeist will be remembered later on.

I write long tales that will not sell in Books-A-Billion or Barns of Novels. I write to the reader in me. I’m just as likely to write nonsense as common sense. One of my favorite poems has no purposefully-written English words but tells the story of a desert prince whose object of his affection he can never marry so they meet one last night at an oasis, where, unbeknownst to them, an alien spaceship is dumping some toxic waste from its sewer receptacle and accidentally blinds and disfigures the two Persians, giving a whole new meaning to “star-crossed lovers”:

Sounds In The Night

Onaki som
Vrimurnika
Ola, mifrind, ola
Cizurpi, Ta
Omal jamal
Amarki ti nipur
Solonga long
Ananika
Aloki fanipa
Apar tipar
Avert aumur
Nipusi ti amour

– 7 October 1985
As we completely pave over this planet with homogeneous neighborhoods and shopping districts, let’s recognize that life is Chaos ruled by Entropy. Anything is possible and anything can happen. Shouldn’t a novel be the same way?

23 February 2009

Overcoming Boredom

In a few months, I’ll have lived and breathed on this planet for 47 years. During that time, I have repeated myself so often that I’ve come to understand the concept of the midlife crisis more than once, too. You know what I mean, the reality that you’ve lived as an adult for 20-plus years and mortality is no longer a concept but an actual counting down of days so you look around you and see the ennui associated with seeing the same thing over and over and over again, despite attempts at experiencing something new.

Sometimes, enough time has elapsed that I can repeat something I’ve forgotten about. But eventually, the brain pathways are refreshed and memories return.

So it was that I experimented with online social networks. I got in contact with schoolmates I hadn’t seen or heard from in 30 years or thereabouts. I discovered the lives they had led and thus some of the various possibilities that any one of us could have taken from the day we left the mandatory education labor camp known as high school (or primary school). I learned that there are some genuinely nice, caring people out there while I am still the intellectual snob I always thought I was, laughing my way through life as if I was somehow better than everyone else (and yes, no need to tell me, it’s as pathetic as it sounds — I grew up in an average middle-class home, with an average middle-class life and average middle-class intellect).

At the start of the day, I am still stuck with me. Sure, I woke up at 4 a.m. this morning to watch the sky brighten, with the tree silhouettes slowly coming into view in the foreground, as the luscious deep reds and blues in the background dimmed the stars, outlined the mountains, and gave way to a gorgeous sunrise. After all, I am an animal capable of wonder, unaware if my fellow housemates — a black-and-white tetra fish, two Cornish Rex cats, female human being, some potted plants, and hidden ones such as spiders, roaches, and the like — enjoy the wonders of the universe as much as I do.

I suppose that’s what it’s all about for me, discovering whatever “it” is in the moment. Once “it” is tagged, numbered and filed away, I’m ready for the next “it” to enter my field of view. Otherwise, if I have to stare at “it” for too long, I get bored, nervous and edgy. Like a child throwing a temper tantrum, I scream and shout, pushing people out of the way, calling them whatever names and making up whatever stories I can to get them out of my way (as if someone would bother stalking me) so I can go on to the next “it” I find by myself.

I suppose that’s what worries me. If enough of a surrogate me is created in cyberspace, thus giving others who may not even know me an idea of what the next thing may be that will hold my attention as the “it” of the moment, I may never discover something new for myself. Instead, I will be fed a diet of things that are just enough different or far enough in time from the last time I encountered them that I’ll believe it’s something new and completely different.

After all, a car is just a car. A pair of shoes is just a pair of shoes. They are all just accessories and necessities. Yet, look at how many of my fellow humans get excited when the next car model hits the showroom floor or a pair of shoes gets displayed in a store window. They will fully exclaim that this is “IT”!!!!

I have owned Italian and German sports cars. I have jumped out of a perfectly good airplane. I have traveled to foreign lands and spoken foreign tongues. I have held a variety of jobs. But the one thing I’ve never been is someone else. No matter what I do or where I go, I fall asleep as me and get up with me in the morning.

Of course, we can never escape ourselves. We can reshape our bodies, calling it steroid therapy, botox injection, cosmetic surgery (just exactly what is “plastic” about plastic surgery?), artificial limb attachment and so on. We can replace many of our organs. But we haven’t found a way to replace our genetic heritage, our collection of thoughts and other aspects of whatever “it” is that basically makes us us. [The symptom of amnesia is an interesting manifestation of that idea, though.]

Today, I have nothing to offer myself as a solution to my boredom. Usually, I just entertain myself with another short story disguised as a blog entry (which later serves as a portion of a chapter in a future book). However, last night’s dreams were so delightful that I don’t feel like writing anything down, not even my dreams, which would be too difficult to translate into words. I can savor the dreams and not spend a penny today.

I’ll just jot down a note for myself here, trying to capture the dream image of myself as a baby in a crib staring up at math formulae floating above my head like stars in the sky or figures in a rotating mobile, each one being a partial solution to the economic turmoil we’re now facing. As I reach up and pull down a formula, I see the way to fix the economy. I keep pulling down more and more math symbols until I see that the solution to the economic mess is not mathematical at all. Instead, it’s simply a matter of telling people to realize that our mindsets will be messed up for a while until we get used to the idea of resetting our financial goals and expectations. It won’t stop economists from touting large numbers or politicians from promising political fixes. What it will finally take is a concerted effort by the people to declare war on the economic profiteers (né pirates) and look for sacrifices in order for them to fully vent their rage before they can accept defeat in the worldwide battle for economic supremacy.

Will there be a modern-day version of storming the Bastille? It depends on how well the governments and news outlets can keep people feeling helpless and disconnected from one another. I look for either a rise in despondency/apathy or increase in random acts of violence against financial institutions to show which way the people are going. Ireland is already showing increasing signs of violence but it is a relatively isolated place, both geographically and informationally speaking. But is it the canary in the mine, though? And how many times has someone like me seen and felt these same thoughts, thinking that he’s the first one to discover them?

Ah, boredom…’tis hard to overcome when methinks too much, eh? Best be entertaining meself quietly while I keep me mind focused on cranking the millstone like a good peasant. Them feudal lords knows what they’re a-doing, don’t they?

Yeah, right!!!

I especially like the political idea of “You just keep working so we can use your taxes to fix the situation.” Hmm…isn’t “fixing the situation” why I’ve already paid off my house, put money away for retirement and lived below my means my whole life? At least I have the luxury of not working right now so there are no taxes that I pay to fix someone else’s life savings, home equity value or underwater mortgage. My wife and I are good students of history and have always avoided overextending ourselves.

Sorry, but after looking at the lives of others on facebook, I’m mad as hell and can’t take it anymore — I have no desire to help some of you repair your overextension just because you weren’t good students to begin with. I’m taking a small part-time teaching position to reach out to those who still have an open mind and may want to learn how to enjoy a comfortable life without plastic surgery, overpriced neighborhoods and heavily-mortgaged lifestyles.

For the rest of you who lived below your means, I congratulate you. Join us in the revolution to turn this economy around! Teach others to turn off their televisions and stop listening to the radio. Stop subscribing to advertising-based magazines. Don’t open general-interest or other ad-based websites. In other words, don’t let someone else tell you what you like — use your own brain to decide what you like or dislike. You’ll be amazed at how much more relaxing your life can be when you spend more time with people like you who enjoy a basic lifestyle without constantly competing with each other about who has the bigger boat, newer backyard grill, shinier diamond ring or fancier renovated house. You’ll taste foods for the first time for what they are and not for what the advertising agencies promised. You’ll appreciate the leaf on the tree for the color it has and not think of it as just something you “have to” mow or rake in the fall because your yard has to look more pristine than your neighbor’s.

That’s what resetting your expectations is all about — simply redefining what it takes to overcome the boredom in your life. You don’t have to buy things or change your body to substitute for an empty life. Why not just be you, complete with all the warts, boredom and everything else that comes with it? You’d be surprised how much fun, creative and fulfilling it can be to discover more about yourself!!!

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 10:06 AM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: General, surrogate human, teaching

22 February 2009

Who Do You Work For?

I don’t believe in international conspiracies. I don’t see spies around every corner. Of course, that doesn’t mean they don’t exist.

As I once said, I rarely have dealt with the underworld of crime. But then, what exactly is the underworld? And what is crime but the violation of someone else’s definition of correct behavior?

I grew up in a small town in the United States in the 1970s. I joined a youth gang when I was nine or ten years old. In the gang, we stole cigarettes, candy, magazines, over-the-counter drugs, and other items from local stores. We also snitched cigarettes, cigars, liquor, and prescription drugs from our parents. We broke into other people’s homes to steal the same items, which we would consume in houses under construction as we vandalized them. Sure, we had a clubhouse but the core members of the gang never fully trusted it because it was an open secret among all the neighborhood kids. We terrorized little kids to keep them from telling on us but inevitably a kid would tell a sibling who would inform his or her parents about one of our activities, getting us in trouble.

Once you join a gang, you never really get out. Even though I left the gang after my parents found out about a house I vandalized, my gang buddies never forgot about me. Throughout my teenage life as the perfect Boy Scout, which included earning an Eagle Scout Award, I always had the old neighborhood bullies on my back, so to speak. My later “crimes” with them, such as they were, included cheating on tests, ratting out rival gang members to teachers, terrorizing younger kids and generally protecting my former fifth grade band of brothers whenever they got in trouble (diverting a teacher’s attention is just too plain easy when you have an angelic face like mine).

After high school, I lost touch with my buddies. Their criminal lives had taken some of them in and out of juvenile delinquent detention centers and later county jails. One of them served time in a federal penitentiary, from what I heard. Overall, our lives had taken tracks in two different directions.

Or so I thought.

A couple of years ago, after accumulating a large stock portfolio, I decided to retire in midlife. I looked forward to a life of leisure, doing whatever I wanted to do. And for the most part, I have. Except for this one small thing.

You see, just about the time I retired, I got a call from a woman named Melissa Wu. Ms. Wu claimed she had seen my CV (or resume, if you will) posted on a website called monster.com. Now, I don’t exactly remember posting my CV on the Internet but sure enough, there it was. Anyway, Ms. Wu mentioned that I had been highly recommended by a colleague named Litho. Litho? Wow, I hadn’t heard a name like that since…well, since fifth or sixth grade.

Ms. Wu told me that the job she was interested in my taking involved a software development project between a firm in China and one in the United States. She told me that both firms wished to remain anonymous in exchange for a hefty bonus and a exclusive contract for my services for the next two years.

Smelled fishy to me, doesn’t it to you, too? Like a really bad movie plot. But, unfortunately, life is like that sometimes. I told Ms. Wu that I had retired and wasn’t interested in a job. She told me that she or someone from her recruiting firm would call me back.

A few weeks later, I got a call with no identity on the Caller ID. The caller’s voice sounded familiar.

“Litho?”

“Gus! Hey, how’s it going?”

“Pretty good. Yourself?”

“Can’t complain! Hey, I understand you’re available for hire?”

“Well…”

“Hey, come on, man. Do me a favor here, will you?”

“You in trouble?”

“Not at all. It’s just that I’ve got this Web business thing going on and I need someone who can help me get the whole system all tested out. We’re using worldwide connections to computers tied to a Microsoft Home Server and thought maybe your software testing skills and management skills could get this thing finalized.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Say, I tell you what. We were hoping to get you or someone from back home involved in this. But, thing is, we need you to move to Shanghai.”

“Shanghai?”

“Yeah, pretty cool, huh? Look, I know you ain’t working right now and could use a little spare pocket change. What say you come over to China and check us out?”

To cut the story short, I told Litho I’d think about it. He called me back a time or two and when I was still hesitant, he got Ms. Wu back involved.

Melissa was more convincing than I thought. She walked me through the technical details of the setup, which intrigued me. We finally worked out a deal where I didn’t have to travel out of country. Instead, using a simple VPN connection, I communicated with a test team in Shanghai, one in the U.S. and one in Bangalore to organize a complete test team.

We finished our task last October.

I felt like I was in the movie, “Paycheck.” As soon as I received confirmation of a deposit of my bonus check in my account in UBS in Switzerland, I started getting odd vibes, especially since my deposit occurred the day the stock market took a dive. In a panic, I checked my account and it had actually grown.

Litho had told me that the system I had tested would truly be a global network. Sure enough, I and my team had shown how a small network of home servers strategically placed in homes, offices, universities, government facilities, convenience stores and just about any out-of-the-way places could control untold number of computers, no matter whether the computers had so-called secure antivirus and firewall software installed, by taking advantage of a backdoor method I had developed in testing KVM switches. A KVM switch is a device that lets you hook up a computer to a box and extend the length of cable of the Keyboard, Video, and Mouse devices (as well as USB devices like flash drives and MP3 players) — extending the cable included a virtual cable connection across the Internet. Thus, while theoretically you could not directly download files from the computer through the KVM cables, you could take “pictures” of what was going on across the KVM cables and process them realtime, meaning you could duplicate the exact actions of your home computer or a computer in a government lab and send those actions to a bank of servers halfway across the globe. Litho was impressed that my test team not only worked out all the bugs but had made excellent suggestions for improving the system’s robustness, transparency and scalability. He promised that my work would not go unnoticed.

Today, while the global stock markets are plunging, my private accounts are growing. BTW, I no longer have an account at UBS. Seeing the attention that UBS was getting a few weeks ago at a quiet government office near Washington D.C. that my own private home server network alerted me to, I just as quietly split my UBS account into deposits at other remote locations under companies, accounts and names that Litho highly suggested I use to protect my investments.

Why am I telling you all this? Well, you see, everything I’ve done in the past two years is completely legitimate. I have contracts, paycheck stubs, IRS tax payments and other documentation to clearly show my work is on the “up and up.” But I still smell a fish, don’t you? So, when you think you’re working for a U.S.-based company, take a look at the list of U.S. companies that are foreign owned, like Holiday Inn, compiled in the book, “The United States of Europe” by T.R. Reid.

Think about it. Who do you work for? Don’t lean in too closely or you might smell a fish, too. Sometimes it’s better not to know. Hey, if the IRS thinks it’s legit, it’s legit. Take my word for it.

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 2:33 PM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: chapter excerpt, government, novel, Story, technology, writing

Means and Meanings

I should not be here, putting words on patches of global paper, scratching my thoughts with found fonts, carving my name on lumps of coal or in swirls of oil.

I meditate on words, all the same….ommmm….I cannot escape the past and I never live in the future…the present moment leads to the next…that’s all…ommmm.

Quote: [of Aldous Huxley:] “You could always tell by his conversation which volume of the Encyclopedia Britannica he’s been reading. One day it would be Alps, Andes, and Apennines, and the next it would be the Himalayas and the Hippocratic Oath.”
— Bertrand Russell, Letter to R. W. Clark, July 1965, from the Yale Book of Quotations
Hahaha. Today I look at the world I live in and marvel at the provincialism inherent in my being. I see that others, including Barthelme and Ballard, wrote their fictional best often while wrapped in the cocoon of suburbia, so provincial living is not a crutch upon which to lean my limits.

I’m granting myself some patience here. My blood pressure is up because I am still distraught about giving up the future of running a company and while I’m writing this, I’m converting my pop albums to MP3 that I once bought to impress some forgotten girls (The Moody Blues, Loverboy, Peter Schilling, The Rolling Stones, and Lionel Richie). The time and money we waste on the false sense of romanticism!!! I love my wife but the women I chased until they started telling me all I wanted to talk about was my wife…ironic, isn’t it? Pay for dates with other women so they can tell me who I love. That’s okay. I can forgive the indiscretions of my youth. It’s the boring albums that still clutter my house that make me shake my head. For a person who shuns materialism, I sure am a pack rat. To quote Tracy Daugherty, who paraphrased Henri F. Ellenberger from the piece called “The Psychology of Destiny,” published by Donald Barthelme in Forum:

the individual is free to choose from among the traits he has inherited from his family to shape an elected destiny.
In other words, I have elected to accept my pack rat attitude from various family members. No excuses.

As far as my tough business decision goes…sigh… A little background here. A work colleague invited me to his church a few weeks ago for a Friday evening get-together. That evening enlightened me about my strengths, weaknesses, desires and dislikes. As I walked among the churchy engineers and their spouses, watching their behavior — mainly, their range of comfort in a crowd — I clearly saw that running a company or being involved in any business at all is not what I want to do in life, despite its attractiveness. As my sister pointed out to me recently, at heart I’m a nonsocial nerd. Thus, I know deep down I will always be uncomfortable in crowds and shouldn’t be trying to manage a group of people (I learned that lesson at my last job but sometimes forget about it). Rather than keep being involved in a venture that I’m not interested in and pushing my blood pressure up in the process, I feel it’s best to step away now and let those get involved who are comfortable taking the lead. Someone like another work colleague who played sports in college and is successful in sales/marketing, or a prominent local attorney who founded a sports team (in other words, guys who are team players and have been involved in organized sports) tend to do a great job talking up a brand-new product line and running a company better than a typical old nerd like me — Bill Gates and Steve Jobs being the notable exceptions to typical nerds, of course.

In that, my father and I are different. I remember when he and I were at a sports function one evening and there was a private reception going on. My father felt no qualms insinuating himself into the crowd whereas I understood that we were walking in uninvited. That uninvited attitude of mine is a clear indication that I am not completely a chip off the old block, as the saying goes, and not cut out to hob-nob with business owners and others who feel comfortable mixing with each other as if they belong together. My father has no problem with the instant feeling of belonging to a group. I, however, do not feel as if I belong to any group, and act like a jovial, laughing clown to hide my discomfort. Like Groucho Marx said, I do not want to belong to a club that would have me as a member.

I am not a loner but I am not a joiner, either. I walk my own path where sometimes others walk with me and sometimes I walk alone. I do not need or want others following me because I don’t necessarily know where I’m going but sometimes people follow me, anyway, because it seems that some people have the idea that I’m good for entertaining them for a little while.

Such is my life as I approach 47 years on this planet, not having any clue what I’m doing but about to stand up for eleven weeks of four-hour stretches in a classroom and tell kids how to live their lives. God help the poor kids in my classes. If they only had a clue!!! lol Perhaps in my entertainment, they’ll find nuggets of wisdom to call their own.

How can the means justify the end if there is no end in mind? Does one seek the mean? Can one find meaning anyway? If there is no meaning, no means, no end, and no bounds for a meaningful mean, then what? Easy answer: laugh at the questions because they are just the smoke and mirrors of words. That which I call a tree looks like a giant stalk of broccoli to a giraffe, a stack of timber to a lumberjack and a house to a bird. In other words, if you find yourself drawn to my writing, don’t take anything I say seriously because I’m just playing with the arrangement of words and offer no concrete advice. I am entertaining myself. Nothing more. All else is just a reflection of the cultural norms, ethics, morals and disjointed commercial advertising upon which I was raised. There is not some coherent whole hidden among the reeds that I am slowly revealing to you like a wise sage. But if there is, then let me know ’cause I haven’t seen it yet myself. %^D

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 9:57 AM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: chapter excerpt, novel, Story, teaching, writing

21 February 2009

Chapter excerpt — Gus [for mature audiences only]

Hello, my name is Gus. Have I told you that already? I can’t remember. My memory is slipping past me in the checkout aisle. All I’ve got is this grocery cart full of miscellaneous items, like a box of floppy disks, a broken ceramic sculpture of a seated pipe musician, a stone mask from Mexico, a HotWheels Ferrari dealership, half-empty bottle of Stetson cologne, and a purple fish net. In front of me, two books about men whose ideas and writing greatly influenced my life. J.G. Ballard. Donald Barthelme.

“RE/Search No. 8/9: J.G. Ballard” Copyright © 1984
“Hiding Man: a biography of Donald Barthelme” Copyright © 2009
I am alive today because of them. I am dead today because of them.

The “Best of the Doobies” vinyl LP album spins on a record player, the sounds playing quietly through the needle like the thumping of an automobile audio system nearby, flexing my eardrum at the threshold of my thoughts while stopped for a red traffic light.

According to people who grew up with me during our years together attending primary school, my label was “nerd.” Despite my dislike of labels, people label me and each other anyway. I cannot change people’s perception of me from that time period.

I want to die. I did not plan to live this long. I do not plan to live this long. I have had enough of people and their labels. I have had enough of my labeling animals “people” just because they happen to look like me. I have had enough.

I have nothing left to contribute to this world. It will and does exist without me. I am not a megalomaniac. I do not need to rule any part of this world. I do not want to prey upon the fears and desires of others, even though that is essentially what I’ve done my whole life, in my own small way, from baby life onward to other lives and incarnations but never, I think, as a carnation.

I have tried but never succeeded in escaping the world of words. Instead, I perpetuate it.

Tonight, I’ll eat dinner with my wife and two of our friends. After dinner, the four of us will attend the traveling version of the musical, “In Recognition Of Your Achievement,” loosely based on the movie, “As A Member In Good Standing Through The Year.” I saw the Broadway version of the show in NYC back in February 2007. Two years ago this month, as a matter of fact. Tonight, I am reliving my personal private history, adding other humans to the memories of laughter, frowns, and boredom I experienced by myself for a $180 ticket to a Broadway show while on a week-long training session in the “art and nuance of creatively wasting people’s time unknowingly” at the Crowne Plaza during a New York winter, where I also experienced a taping of the ever-popular television show, “Laughing with Llamas,” down the street.

I have relived history my whole life, too. Speech and writing in itself is a reuse of our history of learning to talk, read and write. Damn. I guess there is no social human future that is absent of the past.

I don’t remember how old I was when I realized I was ambivalent and ambiguous but not ambitious about sexual orientation. I first understood the feelings when I was five or six, sensing that I was attracted to no particular person, regardless of gender. Then, as I grew older, when I reached the edge of the slide down into the sensual pool of sexual maturation, I knew what my body was saying even if the thoughts had not sufficiently been trained or developed to understand the chemical attraction I felt for no one. Once, seeing my behavior, my father asked me if I was a homosexual. I honestly answered no. I had no specific attraction to people of the same sex. Instead, I was attracted to neither sex but silently suppressed any personal desires to act upon my chemical needs, knowing that my successful participation in the suburban subculture of my hometown meant that I should maintain a general healthy sexual attitude toward others. Thus, throughout high school, I kissed two people – publicly displaying affection for a couple of months with a woman a year younger than me and privately sharing a kiss with a man a year older than me. Otherwise, I was celibate, sharing the majority of my years in primary school with a woman, Helen, who did not desire sexual relations with me so that I didn’t have to pretend to want to kiss, hug or otherwise feign sexual interest in her, which in turn let me suppress any sexual attention I knew I wanted to pay to no specific gender. I maintained my sanity by adopting a jovial attitude, perpetuated by my schoolmates even to this day.

My sister and others in primary school thus called me a “nerd.” Yeah, that’s right. Me, Gus!

When I started college at the Good Citizenship College, I had only one schoolmate from secondary/primary school upon whom I could depend to help me maintain my sanity and false self – Cambie, who was my roommate at the dorm during my freshman year in college. To shorten that story, I flunked out of school as my persona fell apart. Cambie was too interested in girls and not enough interested in school to pay much attention to his roommate’s sanity.

I returned to the subculture of my youth in an effort to reestablish my connections to a false sense of self, living at home with my parents. In that mode, I completed college-level courses at Flunkin University, left home to attend the Institute of Model Rocketry Appreciation (where I also reconnected with my female friend from primary school, Helen, who helped me once again fully function in a dysfunctional funk for a while, until I started spiraling downward) and finally, after running away from home on a 10-day route from my hometown to Seattle, WA, to Los Angeles, CA, and back in late September/early October 1984 and a detox visit to my grandmother at the end of that year, I returned home one more time and graduated from Questionable Character College, where, in the midst of taking classes, my first official mental breakdown occurred in 1985, followed by a short series of psychological counseling sessions. You should have seen the fuss they made over a guy named Gus. I did tell you my name is Gus, didn’t I?

So, by 1985, I had lost myself, found myself, realized myself was not myself and still had not accepted who I was. Well, what’s a guy to do but find the woman with whom he knew would not want children by him and marry her? In 1986, I married the one woman from my childhood who waited patiently on me to “grow up” and become a money-earning man. For many years, we stayed interested in each other sexually, diverting any nonmarital sexual attraction back to one another. Chemically, we were compatible (and still are, as far as I know). In our years of marriage, I have had only one full mental breakdown, in mid-1991, and one partial mental breakdown, in 2006. In the first one, I was able to stay employed with the aid of counseling to keep me within the bounds of my subcultural social upbringing. In the second one, I lost the desire to project my false self any longer. Since then, I have been essentially unemployable from a personal point of view. I leave the house occasionally, always fearful that others can see or have seen the real “me” and will label me incorrectly. I am not heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual, androgynous, transsexual, or any other label of sexual orientation that I’m aware of. I prefer sex with myself, basic autoerotic notions of masturbation having satisfied my sexual needs my whole life, while I can think about anyone or anything I’ve seen in fantasies as a personal turn-on.

In other words, I do not need contact with others to satisfy me sexually. Is that the definition of a “nerd,” a person who is satisfied by one’s self and no other? If so, then I reached the limit of myself much too long ago. All else, this investigation, a so-called self-discovery, is for naught. But I’ve always known that, haven’t I?

In this cage of words that surrounds me, I limit myself, I know. But I have no other understanding of the world without words. I do not understand infinity although I know how to spell it. I see a rotating mass slowly cooling down and call it a planet, giving names to pieces and parts of it, claiming ownership of a section of thin crust that floats over the roiling magmatic core and call that piece of crust my home.

Did I tell you my name is Gus? I can’t remember. But I remember something. The temporary intransigence of others, who led me to believe one thing while I have led myself to believe another, makes me laugh. We try so hard to give permanence to that which does not exist in perpetuity. We want to save species whose end time may have come due to our population explosion but we cannot accept the inevitable wholesale elimination of creatures that found a way to survive on Earth’s crust for millennia before our species swept all before it. We especially cannot see that no species is permanent, including ours, but the magnification of a few thousand generations of us makes many believe in the concept of “forever.” So be it. Let the masses keep massing. They have and will do so without me. I have found me and now can let myself go on.

As I have said more than once, no need to keep repeating myself. As I have said more than once, no need to keep repeating myself. As I have said more than once, no need to keep repeating myself. Oops, sorry about that. Sometimes, these old records of mine skip a few times before I notice. Did I tell you my name is Gus?

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 9:40 PM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: chapter excerpt, novel, Story, writing

A Carnival Setting

Saturday, 21 Feb 2009 – The Start of Carnival. My thoughts…what are thoughts? Oh boy, today is not a good day for me. Whatever thoughts are, perhaps the neurochemical firings of the synaptic endings inside an organ encased in a hard shell, they amount to junk.

So much flashing through these thoughts. Brief images. The increase of Latino gang activity in North America. The stock market plunge. Greed, greed and more greed. The detainment of Chinese dissidents during Hillary Clinton’s visit to discuss the triumph of economics over personal freedom. Brouhaha over a cartoon. The gangland murders inside Dublin pubs. The waste of energy to fight a “war” in Afghanistan that won’t ever be won (a few thousand years of history has proven that, in case you missed it). The continued reversal of investment in stock markets. Led Zeppelin songs on a record player. A “bill of rights” on facebook.

Today, I wish for a blank slate to begin new thoughts not influenced by mass media or pop records.

My wish is granted. Turned off the TV. No more surfing the ‘Net on general websites like google or yahoo that used to be an excuse to look for bargain stocks. Like my thoughts, the stock market is simply junk right now – I can wait a few weeks to buy or sell and probably won’t miss the bottom.

Instead, I’ll just sit and watch the bare trees swaying in the wind this afternoon. There’s always tomorrow. The luxury of not being human is not worrying about how to make money everyday or what to do about other mouths to feed. Today, the world can completely take care of itself without me. I just want to take care of myself, selfishly, deliciously so.

I’m going to enjoy Carnival by doing something I absolutely, positively enjoy more than anything I can think of – nothing!

No more journal/blog/facebook/twitter/plaxo/linkedin/comment entries for a while. Whenever I feel like getting back in front of this laptop computer, I’m going to work on a novel in progress. I put aside the novel to entertain others online, in the process ignoring me for too long. For now and a while longer, I’m disconnected from the online world, and will be kind to the one person who appreciates what I do, think, and see more than anyone else – me. I’ve spent too much time creating a surrogate “me” that I forgot the real “me” is here and needs his own special attention, especially from me. Call me a nerd, if you will, but I like me…a lot. And in my nonhuman world, “me” is all I’ve got!

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 1:34 PM 0 comments Links to this post

20 February 2009

Update on the startup I worked with

I was supposed to meet with a local business leader about his involvement in a potential startup. A couple of weeks have passed and I have not heard anything more about a meeting with him. Of course, he’s a very busy man so it doesn’t mean he’s lost interest in the idea. In fact, from what I understand, he clearly saw that the idea is a good one and should be established in the market, especially as this economy gets ready to turn around, meaning that the startup team should strike while the iron is hot.

On a separate note, my life has taken a detour. After much consideration, I regretfully informed the startup team earlier today that I’ve decided I’m not the one who should act as general manager for their group. For the startup to work, I believe the person in charge should have a burning desire to achieve specific, concrete goals, including staying on top of the incremental successes of a small startup. I recently accepted a teaching position and feel that at this point in my career my skills are best applied to teaching others, as opposed to always looking for the next round of funding, going on the road to sell/demo the product, managing engineering design, overseeing the manufacturing process, etc., that a startup will require of a general manager/CEO/president/project manager for many months to come as it ramps up into a full-fledged company.

I thanked my colleagues for inviting me to join the well-rounded group of engineers – I’ve always been impressed by the combined engineering talent of the team. I know they will be successful and encouraged them to keep plugging along on the design work. In the meantime, I’ll keep my eyes and ears open for an available, proven leader to step in and help them get a solid sales/marketing plan put together and full production started. A colleague suggested they periodically check the US PTO database to ensure no one else has received a patent in their market. I also said that as soon as they get the prototypes built, including a small trifold brochure describing the product’s basic functions and potential applications, one of the team members should work with his contacts in the product’s market to promote the prototype units. He can use the prototypes and word-of-mouth advertising to get the short-term funding they need from local investors.

Legally speaking, I told them the business plan I created for them is theirs to keep — they can feel free to use and/or modify it as needed. Also, with the email I sent them I surrendered any agreed or implied ownership I may have had in their startup.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

I feel like my heart has been ripped out of my body, like I’ve lost a dear young friend who I deeply cared about. Although I look at life with a cheerful countenance, sometimes my decisions are painful. Today’s decision was tough. As much as I like to think of myself as somewhat visionary and forward-thinking, I realize that my current actions might reflect a short-term attitude. Today I gave up a potential future of a pot of gold and a busy business life for a handful of change and a quiet academic life. Such is the mindset of a retired person with no more materialistic goals.

When your life goals have been met and quiet meditation is your daily existence, with self-actualization and a comfort zone fully established, you should not give in to the worldly temporary temptations of a past life you freely gave up to receive the bigger nonmaterialistic reward that now lasts indefinitely.

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 10:31 AM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: business, finance, future, investment, market, money, success

18 February 2009

One Self Expression

18 February 2009 – Big Cove, Alabama. How many of us align our daily thoughts with our daily actions? How many of us, instead, live a life where thoughts and actions pushme/pullya in different directions?

I put myself in the category of the latter. Why?

Well, the subculture which nurtured my childhood did not provide the outlet I needed to discover I was not part of that subculture. Therefore, I spent years of the one life I have living subconsciously. “Years,” a word which designates time, of planets and solar systems in motion, hinting at the piles of moments constituting what amounts to “me.”

Did I excel in my childhood subculture? To an extent, yes, I did. But not totally, because the subconscious self – the real “me” that was suppressed in order for a particular style of “me” to be on display for my parental units and their society – hovered transparently overhead.

At the same time, I am all of me, no matter who I think I am, so when I achieved or did not achieve a goal set by me or someone other than me, even I can only go by my behavior. My behavior and the record of my behavior determine who I am to those around me, because whatever my thoughts may or may not have been were unrecordable during my childhood.

As those before me were limited in the expressions of themselves due to the tools available to them (or created by them), the expression of me has been limited to the tools at my disposal – crayon, pen, pencil, typewriter, 35mm film, digital camera, 8mm movie film, camcorder, computer and smart pen. In the future, others will create and re-create themselves using brain scanners, mating their actions with their exact thoughts and thought patterns to create masterpieces of what it’s like to be one particular human with specific, unique visions.

And yet, the goal of the human species, collectively and individually, is procreation. No matter how well or imperfectly I capture and express myself, the fact remains I have no offspring to call my own. At the end of my life, when I look at the collection of artifacts that chronicle my participation in life on this planet, nothing truly matters except the evidence of my genetic re-creation. Human subcultures may contain evidence of my business and artistic participation. In fact, some may have celebrated what I did. But none of them will matter in 200 years any more than any of my ancestors from 200 years ago really matter to me except as contributors to my DNA. For those ancillary ancestors, the aunts and uncles and nieces and nephews of generations ago who had no children, their influence on me amounts to nearly nothing, unless their nurturing behavior preserved a direct ancestor of mine.

So it is not the accolades of my life that determine who I am in human form, even if they boosted my ego and gave me a moment to enjoy. It is my gift of DNA that makes me human. Otherwise, if I have no children, then I might as well have been a computer or other machine, even if my nurturing behavior helps preserve a direct ancestor for a human offspring, because in this generation or the next, machines will nurture humans in a surrogate manner similar to the way people used to before the advent of computing machines, thus eliminating the excuse the childless have to call themselves human.

I accept the fact I may never be totally human, a fate I long ago determined while living in a subculture centered in the Appalachian mountain chain on the North American continent 37 years ago. In the interim, while I walk this planet, I will discover more of what it’s like to be the perfect embodiment of an animal that didn’t take the opportunity to reproduce itself when it had the chance. In the perspective of walking down the path of the second half of my life, I look up at a life clock I purchased nine years ago and placed on my desk to remind me to stay focused on my task of self-discovery (Internet version available here). According to its estimate, I have 15,052 days left of a natural life. In that timespan, I expect myself to contribute to the development of artificial human surrogates which mimic human thoughts and actions that will help the aging human population prepare a future for its offspring.

Imagine a “home companion” that reminds you of your significant other and can talk to you about your past while the two of you sit at home watching television or eating dinner together.

The home companion has collected all the bits of you:

• recorded in your years of living on the Internet (e.g., as a member of social networking sites (facebook, myspace, twitter, yahoo, aol, napster, amazon, baidu, etc.), Internet search results, web browser bookmarks, random comments you’ve left on websites, the games you’ve played, the activity of any IP address that can be linked to you),
• your TV channel selections through the years recorded at the offices of cable/satellite TV offices,
• the electronic files on your computing devices (computers, cell phones, DVRs, smart appliances, etc.),
• your shopping patterns indicated by the items you’ve purchased,
• electronic captures of your brain patterns,
• images of the objects around your domicile, and other daily living areas (office, school, etc.), and
• links to every other connected person who may share objects or life patterns with you.

That home companion exists today but you just don’t see it yet. And that is the contribution I am making to the success of your offspring. No need to thank me. I’m having fun doing this, including posts on facebook and the study of future cybernetic organisms – hope you’re having fun here, too!!

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 4:59 PM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: cybernetics, future, surrogate human, technology

17 February 2009

Taking a Break From Economic Analysis

[This post offers no advice, economic or otherwise, so feel free to skip it]

While I sorted my collection of old vinyl LP records recently, I found a set of albums that belonged to a schoolmate of mine. She and I had shared some good times together and presumably she left the records at my place because I had a stereo system on which to play them. In the 25 years that I’ve kept the records, I’ve lost track of why I was supposed to have them so I decided to believe she had loaned them to me until such time she could get them back.

I contacted my friend through facebook, copying her sister on my message, in case my friend was not a regular facebook user. Sure enough, her sister let me know that my friend rarely checks facebook (in fact, I think it was her daughter who set the account up for her). Therefore, the sister said she would gladly receive the albums instead of my friend.

So, to get the records back to my friend, or at least her family, yesterday I took the records with me to a local store that specializes in packing, boxing and shipping items. I have used the store in the past to ship items that I sold on ebay, with satisfactory results. I walked into the store on a Monday, a government holiday in the United States (Presidents Day or Washington’s Birthday), not expecting to see anyone I knew.

Inevitably, when we’re looking our worst or are in a mood for not talking to others, we run into someone we know. Wearing an old parka I picked up in Ireland a couple of years ago, I stood in line at the store and looked over to see a former work colleague, Don, who was dressed in nice casual business attire. Don had worked in marketing but as he looked at my ragged outfit, he told me he now has his own import business. I told him about Tree Trunk Productions while his eyes scoffed at me in Don’s way of wearing his thoughts on his face (his face said, “He has his own website? Ha! Exactly what kind of website does a guy like that have?”).

Don has an off-kilter sense of humor, sort of like Andrew Dice Clay and Sam Kinison rolled into the suave character actor, David Niven. He bites your head off and spits it out, all while telling you how nice you are and how well he will always remember you as he hands your head back to you, wrapped in paper and stuffed in a nice hat box.

[We exchanged emails later in the day, using both of our humorous points of view to take joking stabs at each other. Hey, what are friends for, right?]

I returned home, picked up my wife and drove us to the theater to see the movie, “Coraline.” After seeing the movie, my wife felt depressed the rest of the day. It didn’t help that we went to a local Chili’s restaurant afterward, sat for 10 minutes without receiving service and walked out to the protests of “Wait, wait” from the hostess (going instead to a new corner pub that opened a little over a mile from our house and serves good burgers).

To be sure, the storyline of the movie is not the most uplifting:

if your parents intentionally ignore you in order to pour their energy into their job (which, if their current project does not work out, means even less food on the table than the scraps you’re eating now), turn to a fantasy world to relieve your boredom.

Perhaps the story is poignant in this economy. I enjoyed the movie more than my wife because I fully comprehend the importance of a fantasy world for one’s creativity. Understandably, fantasies in and of themselves do not put food on the table, but the fantasies may result in your creating something that attracts the attention of people who like seeing or reading fantasies and who will pay you to share your fantasies with them. Even if you have no ability to turn your fantasies into a viable enterprise, having a creative escape mechanism can help you relieve the daily stresses and boredom that creep into your life.

I have lived a sheltered life, rarely bumping into the “underworld” of illegal activities we call ‘crime’ that some estimates say totals more than all government military budgets put together. So, while trillions of dollars are spent in the exchange of goods and services that don’t get taxed, may include bribes, definitely include the exchange of free electronic copies of software, music, movies, and literature, I walk through the world expecting my colleagues to participate in the “up and up,” buying and selling items for which we expect to pay government taxes and from whom the item was acquired legally, benefitting our society with this social framework of trust. I know, I know. Don’t tell me. What kind of fantasy is that, especially in this economy?! … lol … At least I returned a set of albums to a friend of mine, which makes me feel good and costs nothing but packing and shipping.

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 12:03 PM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: General, government

13 February 2009

The face of the future

First of all, I’m sorry that your company is losing such a valuable employee. However, these economic times catch people in jobs that have become superfluous to belt-tightening companies so it’s not the employees who are missed so much as the company is glad to report reduced costs, no matter what the future circumstances may be. In other words, some layoffs are related to trimming dead wood — this particular layoff looks more like strategic planning. I ate lunch with with a sales colleague the other day, and from what I gather, the OEM business is going through turmoil at your company right now. Guess you got caught in the crosshairs, to use a well-worn battle analogy.

In any case, wow! You’re at a crossroads that I envy. The possibilities, though not endless, seem infinite nonetheless. The variety of skills, interests, resources, and mindsets you’ve built…I want to change your name to “THE BABEL TOWER OF POWER”! lol

As far as what you can do with what you’ve got…hmmm…that’s an interesting one.

As you and I can clearly see, the global system of trade, quasi-capitalistic (certainly opportunistic, maybe too much so), is headed down a path toward more reductions in payrolls, more bankruptcies and more chaos at the macro- and microeconomic scale as small mom-and-pop businesses feel the pinch while their customers lose jobs at large factories and megacorporations. How far we keep spiraling down, I can’t say. I know that I’ve lived through three recessions (about one per decade), including in the 1970s, 1980s, and 1990s, and now the fourth one in the late 2000s. The world hasn’t come to an end during any of them. My mother in-law lived through the “Great Depression” while my parents were born during its late heyday in the mid-1930s, and they’re still here to talk about economic cycles.

In every case, humans found not only a way to cope but a new way to live. My father in-law went from a life as a teacher/school principal to the life of a government inspector, then a radio DJ and finally the owner of a two-way radio installation/repair shop up until the year or so before he died. My grandfather spent 29 years in the Navy (1929 to 1959), and retired to the leisurely life of a security guard. My wife’s aunt ran a florist shop. My great-uncle ran a post office and his wife was the secretary at a doctor’s office.

In other words, in the work lives of many of my relatives, government employment helped them through the rough economic times, both during the Great Depression and WWII.

Hopefully, we aren’t facing another major world war. What we are facing is a shift of the balance of economic strength from Europe/United States to Asia. China holds large reserves of purchased U.S. treasuries, as well as spent decades converting exported cheaply-manufactured goods into hordes of imported hard currency.

Therefore, on what does our long-term future rest? What, if I were you, would I consider the best place to invest my time and energy to ensure a healthy future for myself and my significant other(s)?

I’ll recap your interests here for myself. You said you had reams of stuff ranging from books on business bios to fashion design, poetry, fiction, history, travel and marketing.

You’ve traveled more widely than I have and have more contacts in the Asian world, I surmise. Thus, I won’t assume I know more than you do when it comes to both observing and imagining what the world will be like when Asian influences upon global mass media outshine the U.S.-centric “Western” mass media that we grew up with.

My discussions with Asian friends, employees and coworkers (mainly intellectual ones – I don’t think I have a single “rural” Asian friend) has shown me that what I read in my youth about Indian and Chinese cultures incorporating other cultures as they travel, rather than overrunning them as Western culture tends to do, will reflect a future past replete with Western tones.

So, sitting here in my comfortable study, looking out the window where I can see wild Chinese privet (Ligustrum sinense) growing in the ditch of my wooded wild yard, populated with other non-native species like nandina (Nandina domestica), vinca (Vinca major), daffodil (Narcissus pseudonarcissus), Star of Bethlehem (Ornithogalum umbellatum) and untold others, I know that this planet is getting tinier every day.

If I were you, I’d study the next wave of human development, where the language of global business, English, will incorporate other pictographic symbols, such as Chinese characters for a logical numbering system that English does not have (for instance, note how our numbering system in the teens (eleven, twelve, thirteen, etc.) is different from the rest of the decade numbers (20s, 30s, etc. – decade+one (21), decade+two (22)), thus making English-speaking children waste time learning as archaic a numbering system as English money or American weights and measures). I would see if there is a university student exchange program that gives you a paid study time abroad, preferably in a large Chinese city (but studying in a small village has enlightened many of my friends who worked for the Peace Corps). I would use my skills of fashion, poetry and business to teach those around me about working holistically in the global marketplace, showing my new colleagues and fellow students that those who can absorb multiple cultures and find a way to combine the best of the cultures into valuable resources (like a computer system interface that is not slanted toward English but appeals to all humans’ understanding of picture-words), will be the ones who define the “next great thing” like the intuitive interface on the iPhone, the image of a stadium as a bird’s nest, a simple swoosh to define a product’s marketing such as the ones that shoe manufacturers use, or any other method where storytelling and product sales meet elegantly.

I have always believed in your ability to see beyond your limitations. In some cultures, you are still “just a woman,” good for having babies. To be sure, you are capable of and may desire to have children, but you will do more than that, too, I know.

Most importantly, the perspective of both sexes is necessary to move the world of humans fully into the 21st Century. The latest U.S. Presidential election showed us that gender and race have almost become a moot point. Almost. That’s a word that worries me. When economic times get “bad,” especially in the news, many people look back and declare the past as a better time, including old ideas that no longer make sense. If we want to keep moving forward to a truly better time, then you, a young, talented, ambitious businesswoman, are the reason we will do so.

No matter what you do, you will succeed. No question there. You’ll have fun while learning and teaching others. Another no-brainer. I’m no wise guru or oracle but I’ll pretend to be one for a moment and peer into the future. This crystal ball in front of me is a little dusty so pardon me while I wipe it clean. Okay, the haze inside the ball is clearing. I see an image of you 30 years from now. You’ve received some sort of accolades from your associates. You’re standing in front of a virtual podium, from which you’re broadcasting a 3D message to viewers and fans around the globe, both to people on the street and to people in online role-playing games. From your words, I gather that you’ve written a bestselling story that was turned into a 3D “movie” — apparently, in the future, as we write stories, our text is instantly converted into animated “movies” so that we can see we’re moving our characters in 3D space as we type, complete with hyperlinks and running commentaries from online collaborators who can watch and participate in our writing with us — a combination of word processors and role playing games that you helped invent. I can hear from your talk that storytelling is a completely market-driven vocation, so that any mention of a place, an article of clothing, food, or even the characters that we create (who typically resemble real people we know or celebrities), automatically links to the rest of the real-world existence of these. You thank a bunch of people who helped you out, including your university friends who were on the cutting edge of software development in a village of unemployed intellectuals in 2009 and 2010. Your friends pop up in 3D broadcasts next to you as you mention them and thank you for their success, too. Your son surprises you and sticks his head in from his job as a manager of a space hotel, saying that without your foresight to establish a foundation for research into how to tap the “brainpower” of idle computing devices in people’s homes and offices (including computers, UMPCs such as cell phones, and smart appliances), we might never have figured out how to eradicate major diseases, an effort that ultimately enabled him to overcome the paralyzing disease that made him a quadriplegic and later learn how to permanently work and live in space.

See, I’m excited for your future! I hope your boyfriend is, too. Next time he wants to meet you, remind him that you’ve got a space colony to establish so you can’t diddle-daddle too long. lol

BTW, the classes I’m teaching as a part-time adjunct instructor are “Introduction to Computer Programming,” using the Python language, and “Strategies for the Technical Professional,” which is the first class that students have to take at ITT Tech, meaning I am the teacher/coach that ITT Tech students see as the “face” of ITT Tech. No pressure on me, huh?

Gotta go. Time for lunch. Tell your boyfriend, in case he doesn’t know it already in his country, that Valentine’s Day is the biggest holiday in the U.S., so he owes you something important (whatever it is that you think he can afford to give you, of course), since he knows you before you got famous and can take you some place nice without having to take your entourage with you, too.

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 1:04 PM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: business, election, finance, market, money, success, teaching, technology, writing

11 February 2009

Divvying Up Your Earnings

Making money is easy. Even in this economy. No matter where you find yourself, you can earn a wage using your own initiative. How you go about it is up to you.

I have seen people sitting in parking lots / carparks outside large box stores (Dunnes, Wal-Mart and the like) offering items for sale out of their vehicles. Although I declined to purchase the seller’s “cheap” item that can be found at a higher price inside the big box store, including warranty and return policy, I have observed others buy an item from the trunk of a car without blinking an eye.

I can guess that some of those items for sale had walked out of a store on their own or “accidentally” fallen off the back of a delivery truck, couldn’t you? But I’m not here to promote illegal sales. I’m only pointing out that people find ways to put food on their table without resorting to standing in line for unemployment benefits (or go on the dole, as they say).

So, if this economic downturn has put you on the street without a regular wage to call your own, what can you do?

I won’t speak for everyone out there because the myriad ways one ends up without a living wage would require a book to describe how you ended up where you could sit and read this blog entry while wondering how you’re going to pay your bills this month. Today, I will speak to those of you who’ve had the opportunity to earn a few years’ wages and could have put a little money away for a rainy day.

Okay, so now it’s a rainy day (as a matter of fact, right now the sky is falling outside my window as a rather large set of thunderstorms pass by overhead). You’re sitting on the doorstep, deciding if you should hold your hand out while playing random tunes on a harmonica. [To be sure, you could earn a few coins an hour panhandling in that way and might even make yourself famous if you could park your body in front of a popular webcam. Never turn down the chance to make money and have fun at the same time.] What do you do?

Have you ever thought about an income based on company dividends? While all your friends are telling you to have a party because life sucks, look at the money you’ve put aside. Say, it’s enough to pay a few months’ rent. What do you do?

Well, I’m not your broker or your advisor, so don’t expect me to have an insight into your financial goals. However, if I were you, I’d open a window on the Internet and see what my money could do for me. Perhaps I could start a small company, using the money to pay for fees and business licenses. Or I could buy a used van and put all my stuff inside, finding a free place to park down by the river. I could go down to the local bank and take out a loan using my money for collateral. Or I might just have to pay rent, after all. Certainly, I’d be looking for another job, calling up friend, coworkers and family to see what they had to offer. In the meantime, I suggest you look at your financial future.

This economic slump will not last forever, even if it will get worse. Therefore, now’s the time to start looking at companies whose stock is very low yet they’re stilling paying out quarterly dividends. Why should you care? Well, let’s say that you and your friends all have the same amount of money to invest in your lives. Some of your friends will inevitably buy something to satisfy their need for instant gratification — a boat, an RV, a second car, etc. In times like these, you can open the classified ads and find all sorts of bargain basement deals on motorbikes, SUVs and other items that looked good to someone when the economy was hopping but now are eating a hole in their wallet. So, while your friends are scrambling to find someone to buy their toys, what could you be doing? Instead of putting your money to instant use, why don’t you invest your money in stocks that pay dividends? That way, once every three months, you have an income that you can use to buy more stocks or to pay household bills, instead of paying for a houseboat that you use a few months out of the year (of course, if your dividend income keeps growing, you could have both, but let’s stick to the basics for a moment).

The point here is that you have a choice in what to do with your income — before you find yourself on the street penniless, think about taking care of your future using today’s paycheck. Sit down and determine what you’re going to do with that 20% you promised you’d put aside every two weeks. Make sure some of it goes into dividend-paying company stocks. That way, when or if you end up without a regular paycheck, you have a little buffer built in that rewards you for your foresight. Then, when you’re out of a job while sitting down looking at a small nest egg that will only cover a few months’ rent, you know you can focus on the rent, and let your upcoming dividends pay for insurance or other bills you worked out to pay annually, semi-annually or quarterly. Better yet, if your dividends are working out well, you might even decide to take that nest egg and start your own Internet business.

Don’t wait until you’re out of work to say, “If only I saved up some money!” Your financial future starts now. Invest in it.

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 12:49 PM 0 comments Links to this post

09 February 2009

Making the most of a household budget

How many of us started our adult lives knowing the amount of money to budget toward our monthly cost of living? Not many, I suspect. If you were like me, you might have asked your parents and older friends what they paid for “utilities” (energy, sewage, water, recycling, etc.), rent/mortgage, and other miscellaneous costs, but you didn’t realize what your out-of-pocket costs were like until you saw your savings depleted for deposits toward phone, apartment, insurance and utility usage, not to mention that first down payment for an automobile or later for a home mortgage.

As the months went by, you got a decent idea what your future monthly payments would be like, especially annual utility costs that cycled from season-to-season. Depending on your household and number of roommates (including friends, spouses, significant others, siblings, children and/or extended family), you pooled resources to pay bills, assuming that whatever was used the month before was going to be used in the same amount the next year.

But is that true?

In some parts of the world, droughts and water restrictions have driven the cost of water through the roof, forcing us to make changes to our water usage habits such as no more watering patches of lawn (brown is the new green) or washing the shaggy dog (shabby chic is still in, isn’t it?).

What about our energy usage?

According to the U.S. Dept. of Energy and EPA, the following shows the average annual energy usage of a typical household in 2001:

• 49%, Heating and Cooling
• 13%, Water Heater
• 10%, Lighting
• 8%, Other (household products, including stoves, ovens, microwaves, and small appliances like coffee makers and dehumidifiers)
• 7%, Electronics
• 6%, Clothes Washer & Dryer
• 5%, Refrigerator
• 2%, Dishwasher

What does that mean, exactly?

Well, if you’re paying an average of $500 per month for energy usage, then converting all of your lights to high-efficiency CFL bulbs or LED fixtures, reducing monthly lighting costs by 75% and 90%, respectively, you’ll save $37.50/month with all CFL light bulbs or $45/month with all LED light fixtures. A decent monthly savings.

But is that enough to convince us to pay the higher initial costs of the CFL bulbs or LED light fixtures versus conventional incandescent bulbs? Tough call. Personally, my wife and I have switched out light bulbs from incandescent to CFL as the incandescent ones burn out. That way, we don’t waste the incandescent light bulbs we bought. [I guess we could just remove the incandescent bulbs and store them as backups but we’d rather use them up and not worry about keeping track of the old bulbs. As you can see, I’d like to say we’re an energy-efficient household but even as informed and educated as we are about the importance of reducing energy, we aren’t true converts to the “cause” but we are making changes.]

More importantly, wouldn’t reducing the other two items on the annual energy usage list make more sense economically on both the macroeconomic scale (you know, the part where experts say, “If everyone switched to GenX superefficient technology, we could power the whole Eastern seaboard for a year on just one flashlight!”) and the average household scale (the one we really only care about)? The answer, of course, is yes.

But how do we remove or reduce that 62% of our monthly energy bill? In many cases, such as flats or apartment buildings, you can’t remove or change the heating or cooling system yourself so your only choice is personal reduction. Say, like turning down the thermostat at night and throwing an extra blanket on the bed. If you own your home, you should consider switching to highly efficient heating / cooling systems like heat pumps (in temperate climates) or solar water heaters.

The important thing to keep in mind is the fact that unlike other bills that don’t vary from month to month (car payments, housing rent, etc.), you have control over your monthly energy usage. And since you have control, it’s important to know where to make the most impact with your changes. Washing dishes by hand versus using a dishwasher is not going to save you a lot of money (assuming you already have or own a dishwasher), because in both cases you’ll use hot water and often you’ll use more hot water washing dishes by hand. If your monthly usage is similar to the average household, even eliminating dishwashing altogether will only save you 2% of your $500 bill (or $10). In other words, don’t tell your boyfriend that taking you out to eat is going to save him money because you won’t have to wash dishes. Unless, of course, it’s Valentine’s Day or your birthday – in that case, he probably won’t want to dispute the facts. ;^)

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 10:06 PM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: General, investment, teaching, technology

Elevator Pitch

I’m sure you’ve heard the expression, “elevator pitch.” Basically, an elevator pitch is an extended version of a first impression. Imagine an aggressive young entrepreneur spying a wealthy old business owner stepping into an elevator (or lift, if you will). The entrepreneur jumps in, too, goes through a quick introduction, and starts a pitch about a product or business. The business owner holds up his hand and says, “Okay, I like your style, kid. I’m riding up to the 80th floor. You’ve got my attention until I step off.”

We all make first impressions on each other, whether we intend to or not.

A reader went through my websites, read a lot of the material and asked me what I’m really all about because my writing is all over the place, from business discussions to esoteric philosophical posing. He wanted to know what my purpose was in getting involved in a startup.

Good question. Obviously, I haven’t developed an elevator pitch and used it to narrowly define my presence in cyberspace.

Five or six years ago, I talked with a coworker, Ron, whose son was attending Georgia Tech. I reminisced with him about my freshman year at Georgia Tech and the decisions I made that led me away from the institute, hoping that his son would think through the effects the decisions he made would have on his future success. Ron laughed that I had a good story to tell and should think of myself serving as an example to others. In other words, I had started down a path determined for me by adults that would lead to their definition of success yet took another path that to the adults looked like failure but had led me to success all the same. Not everyone has such a story to tell.

I suppose he’s right. In my latest adventure of reconnecting with primary school mates through online gathering places like facebook, myspace, and myyearbook, I have discovered that every one of us who has found the other via the Internet has made a success of his or her life, despite hardships and diversions from a predetermined path.

On the other hand, some of my schoolmates died long ago. Others either aren’t jumping on the cybersocial network fadwagon or are just not available. Their level of success I cannot determine. I know one or two of them are too busy for casual surfing because of their successful position in society. But others? I can’t say and won’t guess.

So where does that leave those like me who don’t have a vested interest in the future (i.e., no offspring to nurture)? I took a nap at lunch today and woke up with the remnants of a dream on the edge of my consciousness. From what I gather, the dream had to do with standing in front of a group of people of various ages. I asked the people to come back to class the next time with an elevator pitch. When one of the people asked me what an elevator pitch was, I then told them the story of my life and how it had led to my being there in front of them at that moment. The elevator pitch I gave them was this, or something like it:

“I imagine some of you have no idea what you want to do with your life but you’re here because you want to find out. As you can see, I have been in your shoes. If you want to keep having fun while figuring out how to use your strengths and weaknesses to succeed in this world, this class is for you. Even if you don’t want to succeed, this class is for you because we’re going to have fun. In fact, I’m going to reward you everytime you show up for class [handed something out]. Before we continue, I’ll let you in on a secret — there’s no such thing as failure, in this class or anywhere else. Life is just a series of events that you can learn from and the more you open yourself up to learning, the more fun you’ll have getting ahead in this world. If you want to be here but for some reason can’t make it, I’ll do what I can to get you out of the ditch or out of a rut and back on the road to success. Just let me know why you can’t make it so I can help you. I can’t think for you, either, but I can help you learn how to focus your thinking on what works for you.

“I’m not here for my health. I’m here because I want to learn from you and know that you’ll learn something from me. Once you figure this out, you’ll see the world in a whole new way, that the world was built for you to do well and have fun doing it.

“You can’t stop other people’s opinions of you, positive or negative, but you will start taking care of your opinion of yourself. When you go to bed tonight, review the day’s activities, ignoring the voice of any nagging naysayers you heard that day. Instead of rehashing what you have done over and over again, think about what you learned so that you don’t have to repeat yourself again. We only repeat ourselves because we haven’t taken the time to see the lesson we’ve learned over and over again. Okay, you’ve learned it! Go on! Tomorrow, the next brand-new day in your life, you’ll find yourself waking up with a smile, ready for the next adventure.”
I sit here with a smile, believing that I’ve found my elevator pitch. I hope you’ve found yours.

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 1:00 PM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: General, success, teaching, writing

08 February 2009

More about “Revolutionary Wealth”

As I leave the subject of what the futurists, Heidi and Alvin Toffler, have to say about the world economy, I’ll quote a few passages of their book, “Revolutionary Wealth,” that captured my attention enough that I dogeared the pages where I marked the passages for future re-reading. From the paperback printed in 2006 (ISBN: 978-0-385-52207-6):

Page 5

Tomorrow’s economy, for example, will present significant business opportunities in fields like hyper-agriculture, neurostimulation, customized health care, nanoceuticals, bizarre new energy sources, streaming payment systems, smart transportation, flash markets, new forms of education, non-lethal weapons, desktop manufacturing, programmable money, risk management, privacy-invasion sensors that tell us when we’re being observed – indeed, sensors of all kinds – plus a bewildering myriad of other goods, services and experiences.

Page 109

Beginning with our six billion-plus brains, and based on the rates at which they absorb information and how fast we forget it, Lesk roughly calculated that the “total memory of all the people now alive” is the equivalent of 1,200 petabytes of data. Since a petabyte is equal to 1,125,899,906,842,624 bytes, 1,200 sounds like a lot. But, Lesk nonchalantly assures us, “we can store digitally everything that everyone remembers. For any single person, this isn’t even hard.”

After all, he continues, “the average American spends 3,304 hours per year with one or another kind of media.” Some 1,578 hours are spent watching TV, another 12 in front of movie screens – which adds up to about 11 million words. Another 354 hours are devoted to newspapers, magazines and books. The result, he suggests, is that “in 70 years of life you would be exposed to around six gigabytes of ASCII.” Today, you can buy a 400-gigabyte disk drive for your personal computer.

Page 355

In the United States and most rich democracies, wave conflict is usually subtler than in the poor world. But it is there nonetheless. It appears at many different levels, ranging from energy policy and transportation to corporate regulation and, above all, education.

Industrial America was built on the back of cheap fossil fuels and an immense infrastructure for distributing energy around the country. Costly and overdependent on imported oil and gas, the American energy-distribution system includes 158,000 miles of electrical transmission lines and 2 million miles of oil pipelines that, because they are heavy fixed assets, are hard to alter in response to rapid change.

The United States is rushing to build an advanced knowledge-based economy but remains saddled with an industrial-age, legacy-energy system politically defended by some of the world’s biggest and most influential corporations against a growing, growling public demand for fundamental change in the system. The conflict is not usually posed in these terms, but it is, in fact, an example of Second Wave vs. Third Wave warfare.

Page 356

The U.S. transportation system, on which most business enterprises directly or indirectly depend, is still gridlocked by a politically powerful triad of oil companies, car manufacturers and often corrupt highway-construction firms.

Thus, while America’s communication system has introduced a dazzling succession of innovations, making it possible to distribute knowledge in ways never before possible, Americans are still denied energy and transport systems that would be more efficient, safer and cleaner. These key elements of America’s infrastructure – and their component subsystems – are de-synchronized and fought over by vested industrial-age interests and breakthrough innovators advancing the knowledge-based wealth systems. Wave conflict again.

 

The Tofflers go on to show a few examples of similar issues in corporate business practices and mass education (the “factory-focused education system,” as they call it). What I see here is opportunity. We will not get rid of the oil dependence infrastructure or interdependent massive road system anytime soon so how do we make use of these systems to take us out of the 20^th Century and place both feet in the 21^st Century? Obviously, the viability of alternative energy has a long way to rise up in the forefront of the national conscious before there’s any kind of massive outcry for a personal solar/wind/geothermal power plant in every household. More people are using alternative energy than our last energy crisis in the 1970s but we haven’t tipped the balance away from oil and coal just yet.

Therefore, while our elected officials debate the components of the megatron stimulus bill that will supposedly jumpstart our economy, I suggest every one of us look at our place in the economy and see what we can do to put food on the table while lowering our dependence on fossil fuels. Simple things that frugal shoppers have used for centuries like buying dry goods in bulk. More complicated things like switching low-level home lighting from house current to solar panel charged rechargeable batteries (e.g., solar lights in the walkway leading up the house or end table lamps using directional LED lights next to the bed (for those in either houses or apartments)). Some homes in desert/subtropical areas already use solar electrical panels or water heaters disguised as roof tiles. In other words, it doesn’t take an act of Congress to change your habits to decrease your dependence on oil.

At the same time, let’s encourage each other, as well as young people thinking about their careers, to look at non-traditional jobs, ones that may not have even been invented yet, in order to help build a new future for all of us. Maybe someone out there can create herself a “job” that simply means you’re compiling what your network of workers/friends/family are doing online and find a way to build an instant market or product they can all use/buy simply by talking about it (e.g., pose a series of fun questions that invite marketing input on a line of potential Internet products, products that may save lives in a regional emergency (“5. In relation to question 4, if you knew that folks in New Orleans were about to experience another hurricane, how could your cell phone help?”)). Based on what Lesk said in the Tofflers’ book, it shouldn’t take a big disk drive to store the data you’ve collected and you should be able to use a home computer to process it.

With the increased use in online applications like facebook and twitter, surely we can spend time not only remembering the good old days and chatting about our latest love interests but we can also open a dialogue with each other, asking difficult questions like, “What have you done to make your life better today? I’ve lost 13 pounds so far this year by asking myself these questions: 1) Did you eat one less doughnut? 2) Did you walk up-and-down the shopping center instead of drive from store-to-store?” Let’s have fun but let’s also find ways to enjoy our lives together responsibly.

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 7:24 PM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: business, election, finance, government, market, technology

07 February 2009

A Phoenix with Nine Lives

Thursday, 5 February 2009. Eimear, I believe in the power of not believing. Do not put unnecessary expectations on the future so that what happens to you, no matter how wonderful, will surprise you.

As I told you earlier this week, Thursday (today) was going to be a day of decision-making. What the decision(s) would concern, I did not know and did not try to comprehend (Je ne comprends pas le futur, I suppose I could say, perhaps incorrectly, in the little French I remember from high school).

Yesterday was a day for good news. My family learned from the doctor that all is well for a family member. In addition, the dean of the local campus of a technical institute arranged an interview with me on Friday for an adjunct teaching position. I also got an email from a friend who wanted to talk about a business deal.

This morning, I woke up but could not concentrate because my thoughts were jumping from one good feeling to another. Even so, I thought back to my earlier plans to make today a special day for determining my future, in this case with the word “future” having more of an unsure feeling, as if I planned today to say goodbye to myself or at least get rid of my “self” as in the old “me,” making way for the new “me” to take over what I’ve recently thought were the resources being hogged and wasted by the previous self.

Now, I sit here coming down from an adrenaline high. You’ve told me what brings you ultimate joy is the happiness you see in your daughter’s laughter, which adds to your sense of wealth. I have no children so my sense of joy comes from what makes me go to sleep while trying not to build excitement of what I’ll wake up to feeling in the first minutes and hours of the morning of the next day in unbridled anticipation of what the rest of the day will bring.

This morning, I only expected to shed the skin of my old self. I placed no other burdens on me, so that there would be no debts I felt the old self had left to pay off that would force me to keep perpetuating the old “me.”

Now, how I purge my old selves has been a personal secret of mine, but certainly nothing new to the thoughts of other humans like me. I am not inventing something new here but simply applying age-old secrets of the phoenix to my life. I may yet share the secret with you. We’ll see. hehe

My old selves have their stories to tell because they have existed in a cycle of birth, living, and death, every self giving an example of one person’s way to deal with the stimuli s/he faced. Occupationally, the selves have served as a lawn boy, piano refinisher, fast food cook, store clerk, college student, baritone horn musician (Georgia Tech Navy ROTC marching/jazz band), fast food cashier, restaurant cook, door-to-door book salesman, telephone book deliverer, engineering assistant, technical typist, computer systems operator, computer graphics illustrator, control room specialist, data analyst, test engineer, engineering project manager, senior program manager, company owner/president and consultant. The common thread I see, the essence of all of these versions of me, is the part that records on “paper” the major and minor events of each self’s existence, including language patterns in the form of verbalized thoughts, as well as physical whereabouts of a self such as attending the showing of a movie picture, consuming food in a public place, etc., and putting these recordings into stories. Basically what all humans have done from the dawn of time.

In recording these stories, I have created works of fiction I’ve told you about and posted on my website (http://www.treetrunkproductions.org) as well as works of nonfiction, such as school reports, guides to the use of hardware and software (called user manuals), test plans, program management plans, business plans, etc.

The works of fiction I have given to the world for free because they belong to everyone as my repayment for their participation in my life, even if marginally as a member of the species, Homo sapiens, who wanders anywhere on or near this planet.

The works of nonfiction have served as the barter I exchange for labor credits (i.e., money) I use to make a viable place for me to live with other humans in the social system we call the economy (the one you and I might see as naturally capitalistic because of our upbringing under the political system called the United States of America).

One of the works of nonfiction that I devoted a good bit of time to back in October 2008 was a business plan I put together for a group of inventors and investors who had come up with a product that has no market. In fact, their product creates the market. Therefore, my business plan had to include not only the usual financial incentives to entice investors (legal rigmarole) but also describe the product and its potential market in some detail. I shared the business plan with the team of inventors and they agreed that the plan described what they wanted to productize (after he suggested it, I added a nine-page product description written by one of the inventors that gave the product more clarity to an uninformed reader). The plan included either a way to form an S / C corporation or a limited liability corporation (LLC), depending on what the inventors and/or future investors wanted.

A week or so ago, I went to lunch with a former work colleague of mine whom I consider a great man. He and his wife have raised wonderful children while he has created for himself a good sales/marketing vocation, mainly at the company where I worked with him. He played hockey and tennis while growing up in Canada but has lived in the Huntsville area for over 20 years now and calls this area home. Through his sports and business connections, he has established a good network of friends he calls upon when he either needs to give or receive advice.

At lunch, where I just expected us to talk about what we’d done in the past few years, our conversation led to my interest in the business plan I’d developed in October. I bounced a high-level idea of the product and a general biography of the inventors off my friend to gauge his interest. He said he was willing to hear more so I got him to sign an NDA (non-disclosure agreement), allowing me to disclose in full detail the product the inventor team had put together up to now.

During our phone conversation earlier today, my friend said he had looked over the business plan and is more than excited to get involved in the product’s marketability. In fact, I was surprised at his enthusiasm. He was excited enough about the product that he had told a colleague highly placed in the Huntsville business world about the general principles of the product, seeing if his colleague would want to join him in making the product successful. More than that, he told his colleague that I would be the one to run the company!

Well, that got me shaking like a leaf. One of my dreams since childhood that I started nurturing in sixth grade as I sold stickers shaped like UT football helmets from my school locker, imagining myself an entrepreneur (making pure profit on the sale since I had gotten the stickers for free from local businesses in Kingsport and Knoxville), was to run my own company one day. That’s why I now have my own consulting firm that I call Tree Trunk Productions so that I can be my own one-man CEO/President/owner of a company.

However, my recent work occupation/self was not a person who wanted to run a company of more than one person because he didn’t want to serve at the whim of others. He had retired from the business world so he could be an independent person, free to follow whatever whims of his that would vary from day to day. That old self finally realized that what had first been a set of freely random actions had in fact become a patterned set of actions. Freedom was illusory, in that sense, because he had not given himself up to actually doing completely random things from moment to moment. He ended up finding a label to justify his limited set of actions and called himself a writer, even going so far as to find pride in that label and further call himself an author.

Isn’t there a saying along the lines of “Pride goes before the fall”? [yes, it’s an abridgement of Proverbs 16:18, according to my quick search on the Internet] Well, I knew that my pride of calling myself an author would doom me to end that author’s life. In other words, by calling myself an author I had accomplished the goal that my desire to call myself an author had achieved. I did not desire to live the poor, lonely life of an author but only to call myself one. Mission accomplished! On to the next life.

So here I am, the new self, now ready to start my new life. I will interview tomorrow for a part-time teaching position that I may or may not get. Either way, I have offered my training services to another person in the training/education field and fulfilled my wish to present myself as a teacher/guru. Whether my other wish to live as a guru is fulfilled now or later in life matters not, because next week I will meet with business leaders higher up the food chain to determine my future as a company leader. Upon that I expect my future depends. What becomes of that future, I do not know, but that is what excites me today.

And now you see why I told you that patience has a payoff. For me, patiently waiting for what becomes of me has indeed been gratuitously rewarded in a way I had not expected! The new me was born today and like a newborn has this whole new world to get to know. What’s more exciting than that?!

Je suis prêt à l’avenir. Le futur est maintenant!

Meanwhile, tonight we attend a funeral home visitation for a friend of my wife who died this week. Death and life are always intertwined. One should be prepared to accept both at once because one does not exist without the other ,so I say celebrate them as they do in New Orleans!!

More as it develops…

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 9:47 PM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: General, success, writing

06 February 2009

Just the Facts, not Opinions, Sir

All of us read, hear, and see discussions about the science of global weather patterns, including a phenomenon known as global warming. Political pundits argue for and against the need for the human species to take note of our contribution to changes in weather patterns, including global warming, and change our economic habits. Opinions on the subject of global warming vary like the colors in a paint store. If you don’t have an opinion of your own, you can mix and match other opinions as you please.

Although I don’t work as a scientist, I can observe the weather at a local level and make an informed opinion. I can research the weather reports and scientific studies available at my local library or those posted on the Internet and come up with a summarized view of global weather changes through history.

My observations at the local level tell me we don’t seem to get as much snow in the northern reaches of the southeastern United States as we used to, which may imply the average temperature of storm systems passing through the area is higher than it used to be.

My reading of Internet reports shows that the average annual temperature of the planet is slowly increasing, and with it are increasing amounts of “greenhouse gases.”

What I can’t prove to myself is the total contribution that one species spread across the globe, Homo sapiens, is causing. To know that, I would have to know the total amount emitted by all species, including plant, animal, eubacteria and the like. I want to know what non-species’ influence to include, like volcanoes. I would also have to know how much extraplanetary influence on weather comes from the Sun and the rest of the galaxy/universe.

Some of this information I can gather from the Internet. In my research, what little I’ve performed, I have come across interesting projections made by scientists who don’t seem to be placing blame on the cause of global warming but merely pointing out potential effects. The most interesting effect I’ve seen so far came from an article titled “Sea level rise may be worse than expected” (accessed on 6 February 2009), with the following points making the most impact on me, especially the highlighted one:

• When an ice sheet melts, its gravitational pull on the ocean is reduced and water moves away from it. That means sea levels could fall near Antarctica and rise more than expected in the northern hemisphere.
• Antarctic bedrock that currently sits under the weight of the ice sheet will rebound from the weight, pushing some water out into the ocean.
• The melting of the West Antarctic ice sheet will cause the Earth’s rotation axis to shift, potentially moving water northward.

Of all the reports I’ve read, none of them have talked about the shift in the Earth’s rotation. Instead, they’ve pointed out that the melting of glaciers will remove weight pushing down on rocks and dirt, changing the dynamics of plate tectonics, and they’ve mentioned the possible change to the flow of ocean currents and the ocean’s rise. All of these I understand and can see the possible effects, including more or less frequent earthquakes, volcano eruptions, flooding and severe weather changes.

I don’t understand what the simple fact of the change in Earth’s rotation will do. We know from the study of magnetic changes in bedrock that the Earth’s magnetic poles have shifted in the past. We have analyzed the slight wobbling of the Earth and seen how it may have led to the periodic rise and fall of previous human civilizations.

But has anyone studied the change in Earth’s rotation and fully understand the effects? I’m not an eternal optimist nor a doomsday downer, because in my life I’ve seen that every up has a down and every low point has a high point in a cycle. Therefore, if Earth’s rotation shifts on its axis, there will positive effects for some people on this planet and negative effects for others. The question I want to answer is how soon will the shift start occurring (if it hasn’t already) and what should I do to prepare myself and my family to be on the positive side of the shift. On a larger scale, how should we as a global population reduce the negative effects on our species’ continued success on this planet (and can we)?

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 10:00 AM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: technology, weather

03 February 2009

How Do You Measure Wealth?

When I was a child, I walked through a bookstore and saw a tome titled, “Future Shock.” The title intrigued me, most probably because of the word, future. I leaned against the book display and read the future classic, skimming through the chapters and marveling at the adult world that the author, Alvin Toffler, told me was speeding by faster and faster. Yet, there I stood in the world of books, where piles of discount duds sat gathering dust, not moving at all. I could imagine what Toffler was talking about but I could not see it. In school, we still sat and listened to teachers lecture us about the material we were supposed to have read the night before, who would subsequently hand us a list of 10 or 20 incomplete items (T/F and multiple choice questions, for the most part) that required us to prove our retention of the information the teachers and accompanying text had imparted to us. The only shock we felt in the classroom was the occasional pop quiz or open-ended essay question for which we were unprepared. [To be sure, some students were shocked in general, having not mastered the skill of listening and studying, but that subject I will discuss another time (in a previous blog entry, I alluded to the KIPP schools, which serve as an example of what I think future schools should be like).]

Almost 40 years later, I sit here and read “Revolutionary Wealth” by Heidi and Alvin Toffler, published in 2006. How did the future play out compared to the predictions of the first book and how does the future look in the second? Well, it comes down to how you measure wealth, it appears.

How do you measure wealth? I suppose most of us think first of our monetary holdings (assets vs. liabilities) and then perhaps our health. We might even talk of the wealth we expect to inherit in this life or the next one.

The Tofflers look at wealth in another form, that of intangible wealth, such as time and knowledge.

As I read the futurists’ vision of a world ruled not by limited land, building and manufacturing capability but by inexhaustible resources, I remember that the book, written between the dot-com bust and the leveraged mortgage burst, gives us an insight we should appreciate more than we probably do. I’m not saying that the Tofflers and their kind are the ultimate wise gurus to whom we must turn to save this planet from economic destruction. Instead, I believe we can compare their vision against reality and find a projected path upon which to base our investments for the future.

For instance, a Who’s-Who of leaders recently met at the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland. Imagine the tribal leaders of old gathering in a circular ceremony to divine the future by reading the position of the stars in relation to the ashes of the fire and you get a clear idea of the value of our current leaders gathering to produce the documents that will tell the world how to recover from the current economic slump.

The Tofflers examined the role of knowledge (part of the trinity of data-information-knowledge, well discussed in many books and Internet articles) and prognosticated about the need for knowledge to be free. Well, most of this babble I read about in the late 1990s, during the dot-com rise, so nothing of this revealed anything new to me.

Instead, I came to realize that the Tofflers rehashing of the concept of prosumers continues to show where the future is headed.

In this current economic crisis, the world decries the inept spending habits of Americans, who mortgaged their futures in order to enjoy the present, driving economic frenzy on a worldwide scale to milk the mortgage market for all it was worth. No one denies the intangibles of the economy are like a house of cards or the invisible clothes that an emperor once wore to great ridicule. So why do we sit here and cry in our mortgaged milk that was spoiled by imaginary hands?

Think about it. You probably spend your day in one activity or another where you exchange your capabilities for nothing. Nothing, in this case, is a substance that we call money, love, or some other intangible thing that we all say clearly exists, even if you can’t see it. In other words, you spend time at home raising your kids, watching their behavior and providing guidance to put their behavior into what you and others around you consider an acceptable range. From where is that range derived? Remember, the world is full of different ways to raise children, all of which provides good survival skills for them. Or you developed a set of skills that helped you acquire the right to sit in a building and display those skills in a something called a job, as if a job is something that has always existed. But our forebears, some of whom worked directly on a plot of land, did not have jobs. They subsisted on the land, doing what they had to do to feed themselves and their offspring. They may have gone days or weeks without any activity necessary to put food on the table because it had already been gathered and stored or hunted and dried. There was no job to speak of, such as something you could easily say had a time value (like an hourly wage or total subcontract worth).

For those who don’t know what a prosumer is, I’ll summarize the best I can – the combination of producer and consumer. I go to the kitchen, fix myself a PB&J sandwich and eat it. I am a prosumer of that sandwich. In that sense, all of our forebears who worked the land were prosumers. Sure, some of them sold excess food or animals, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Looking at the history of the human species, I think we can clearly say that the majority of our history involved consuming. We picked berries, ate wild grain, hunted animals, all of it “produced” by this planet. Over time, our brains developed the habit of prosuming to enhance our rate of survival. We picked up stones and broke off pieces to increase our killing capability. We wrapped animal skins around our bodies that we had cut off and cured. We learned how to sew animal skins together and later how to make cloth using our sewing skills. Along the way, we developed our first intangible skills, including language and writing (via pictographs).

And it is language that stays with us today. And where our prosuming will take us into the future.

For you see, while Americans are used to carrying the world on their backs, claiming the lead in technological developments and per capita consumption, a revolutionary change occurred. Their language, a derivation of English, will no longer dominate the language spoken on the Internet. There are now more Chinese-speaking people on the Internet than Americans. And their domination of the languages spoken on the Internet is catching up fast.

What does this mean for the future? If history teaches us anything, it appears to show us that humans have mastered the skill of prosuming and will continue to use that skill to great advantage, whether in the home or at the local/corporate/national/global level. The 20^th Century view of the world as having distinct populations divided into national territories will soon become obsolete if it hasn’t completely done so already. Therefore, the intangible wealth of the future, as measured in the form of economic power, time management and knowledge prosuming, rests in the hands of those whose language facilitates prosuming.

If I sat at the World Economic Forum, I would propose that we modify the current language of world business, English, to incorporate the numbering system of Asian languages, which enables people to learn math at an earlier age and speak to each other no matter where they live, physically or virtually. We create a truely basic but extensible world language (we can add more characters or pictographs at any time). I would recommend that we empower those who desire to join the world economy – no matter how poor or rich – by issuing all of them both credit and assets, including a virtual mortgage they can borrow against but also pay interest on as well as ownership in a few global companies and NGOs that gives them a stake in the goings-on of their fellow humans all around the globe.

Knowledge seeks to be free but so does prosuming. If we free up people to produce and consume within a flexible framework of an ever-changing world economy, our intangible wealth will grow, every one of us building an inexhaustible surplus with which we can share or barter, as needed.

That’s the kind of wealth I want. Don’t you?

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 1:32 PM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: business, finance, government, investment, market, money, stocks, success, technology

02 February 2009

What’s a groundhog got to do with it?

2 February 2009, 11:32 a.m. – Two nights in a row with no sleep…am I supposed to see my shadow today? At my age, I know my moods, my body ailments, and my set of reactions to the familiar world around me. Once, I would attack the world like Don Quixote, jousting at monsters with relish, exhilarated in the extreme during the thrust and plunged into depression when the dragons of the world defeated me with laughter. The highs and lows have mellowed somewhat with age. I, I, I…it’s not all about me. I have to keep telling myself that, reminding and repeating myself often, because as a selfish person I tend not to care about others. I just said this to myself and heard echoes in my thoughts of repeating even these set of words. The next thing I know I’ll say is, “Yet, because I was raised to worry about what the neighbors think, a selfish person like me still doesn’t exceed a limit of social decency that I wish did not exist.”

I look at the words, phrases, and sentences I’ve written and exasperate myself with my attitude of “good enough” (as in “good enough for government work”), not taking the time to perfect my use of the rules and suggestions of the English language. Thus, I’ll use too many commas or place a word with a similar but not quite precise meaning (e.g., “I see” versus “I comprehend”).

I write for an unknown reader. Well, I write for myself first but myself as a person with a group of colleagues (including some imagined ones, such as other writers who had brains superior in calculation capability than mine but whose inspiration gives me hope for the value of my work), well-read colleagues who may not exist except in my imagination. Colleagues who enjoy reading dictionaries, plant identification books, philosophy, cartoons, economic analysis reports, sports headlines, milk cartons, random blogs, user manuals, billboards, handwritten letters from friends, LP liner notes, fortune cookie slips and literary fiction.

On a flight from one forgotten destination to another a few years ago, I read a book highly recommended to me titled, “Eats, Shoots & Leaves.” The friend who suggested the book to me majored in English in college and had more than a passing interest in the correct use of punctuation, even though her career had moved into computer equipment sales. I suppose our lives crossed paths for a reason (a reason, mind you, not a purpose). I reason that I wanted to major in language studies or literature but my upbringing pointed in the direction of the hard sciences such as chemistry, engineering or computer software design, thus my vocation would always clash with my avocation of reading and writing literature (literature in the form of poetry, short stories, novellas, skits, plays and novels; I hesitate adding the word “essays” to the list because the blogging world has taken over the world of the formal essay, where even a haiku becomes both blog and essay; I might add “graphic novel” one day should my artwork interest hold my attention for longer than a day of drawing). So literature becomes a joke about a panda that serves as a book title which mixes my life and my friend’s life well.

You know the joke, don’t you? A panda walks into a bar, sits on a stool, munches on some peanuts, kills the person sitting next to him with a gun and then calmly walks out of the bar. A patron turns to the bartender and asks, “What was that all about?” The bartender responds, “Don’t you know that’s a panda?” The bartender hands a poorly written children’s alphabet animal book to the patron, who turns to the letter P and reads the definition of panda: “an animal, native to China, that eats, shoots, and leaves.”

Today, literature as solely a written art form almost has no meaning. The Internet has invaded our thoughts and actions so pervasively and persuasively that we’ve become both creator and audience at once. The visual arts, including rap and hip-hop songs, take literature from the static written page into the three-dimensional realm from whence it originated. Our storytelling ancestors sitting in caves would understand us and our need to carry around Internet devices in the form of cell phones and other UMPCs.

Yesterday afternoon, my wife and I watched the movie, “Inkheart,” at a local theater. If you haven’t seen the movie and plan to, then you should stop reading here because I’ll soon discuss spoilers. As in right now. LOL Toward the end of the movie, the character played by Jim Broadbent (one of my favorite actors, by the way), the writer of “Inkheart,” expressed his wish to move out of the regular, lonely world of writing and into the exciting world he created with his writing. I don’t know how the third act of the movie jibed with the “Inkheart” book series on which the movie’s based, but I was happy to see the writer character get his wish granted.

The night before, I slept in a fit of delirium. I tossed and turned, fighting the enemy who has stalked my dreams and wishes like the shadow from “Inkheart.” I suppose all of us have seen such an enemy as mine, who works night and day to drain me of my true desire, waiting for the moment to suck the life blood out of me and turn me into a zombie, with which the shadow can play like pieces on a chess board or marionettes on a puppet stage, reducing me to the role of an automaton working in an office full of fellow robots. In the dreamlike state, I defeated the enemy because I surrounded myself with the love and support of those who believe with me that my creative talent is worth calling myself a writer. Or more than that, really…I’ll take a deep breath here, look around me to make sure no one is looking, feel my heart beat in my throat before I speak and finally say, “I am an author.”

After watching the movie, my wife and I returned home to watch the spectacle known as the Super Bowl. With a superlative like “super,” we can automatically assume the bowl is anything but. However, I have accepted the conditioning of my society to cheer for or against the participants of the main event, grown men running around chasing an inflated bag of sewn pigskin (and if you ever want a humorous view of football, listen to Andy Griffith‘s comedy sketch “What It Was, Was Football,” – even if you’re not a fan of “The Andy Griffith Show,” the skit is funny), whilst with bated breath we gaze at the screen for gleeful exposure to commercial advertising.

As the NFL game progressed, I glanced at the clock, mentally counting down the hours until the countdown ended for the opening of submission of works of fiction for the 2009 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award at www.createspace.com/abna. When the game ended after 9 p.m. Central, I grabbed another bottle of Yuengling Black & Tan and headed to my study, where I could sit and listen to jazz on old vinyl LP albums and watch the countdown clock on a webpage. Tick. Tock. Or so my brain thought because the silent digital display simply showed the word, “Tonight,” underneath was which a counter of hours, minutes and seconds. My blood pressure leapt when the numbers dropped from 01:00:00 to 00:59:59. Had I made any glaring mistakes in the work of fiction itself, much less the other text I had to submit for the contest, including an excerpt of less than 5,000 words, a pitch statement of less than 300 words, an anecdote, a biography and a description to be used for the novel should the contest judges deem my novel worthy of posting on amazon.com as a semifinalist in March?

Finally, as the hour shrank to ten minutes, I resigned myself to the fact that no matter how well my novel succeeded in capturing the attention of the editor(s) who reviewed first the pitch statement (to reduce the 10,000 entries down to 2,000) to create a reasonable set of good entries and then read my novel excerpt (to drop the entries down to 500, I believe), I had written an opus, though not perfect, which represented me, complete with poor punctuation – with ill-advised comma placement, or omission – and lack of precise word usage.

A groundhog does not determine the next six weeks of weather any more than a randomly selected judge determines the worth of my writing. At 23:11 (11:11 p.m. Central, or 12:11 Eastern time on 2^nd February 2009), I clicked the Submit button and received confirmation that my novel submission was completed and accepted for the 2009 ABNA contest.

HAPPY GROUNDHOG’S DAY, EVERYONE!

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 1:12 PM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: ABNA, General, writing

01 February 2009

Love In The Time of Recession

I wrote a long note to a friend on facebook, hit the backspace key to correct the spelling of a word and the whole note disappeared. I know the first note was a work of genius so I’ll try again…

Anytime I attempt to discuss the subject of love, I can’t help sounding cheesy or sentimental but here I am, anyway.

I cannot say that I own my wife’s love; she owns me. My love is like a debt I can never repay so instead of worrying about how much principal or interest I owe, I share that love with all my friends and family, telling them about what my wife has been for me, has done for me and what little I feel I give in return.

She and I became penpals when we were 12 years old. From that point on, I shared my deepest thoughts with her, never once worrying that she would make fun of me or use my thoughts against me. I accepted her for who she was, too, never criticizing her behavior, no matter how much different it seemed to my own.

As we’ve grown, we’ve learned to give the other room to discover new aspects of ourselves that didn’t exist when we first got married. We did not marry preconceived notions of what the opposite sex should be like or a perfect image of a marriage partner. Other than our names, nothing else is the same as it was 22+ years ago.

That’s the major secret to the success of our marriage.

We also agreed to basic financial rules to avoid the issues that drive wedges into many marriages — money problems — such as:

• Rule #1 – tell your spouse/mate when spending more than $50 for anything besides birthday/Christmas gifts for the other.
• Rule #2 – put aside 20% of our income toward retirement and do NOT touch it until retirement.
• Rule #3 – live beneath our means so we can save up to spend cash on vacations, cars, or other high-cost items, avoiding unnecessary bank loans or credit card debt.

I hope you find someone to share your secrets with and never have to worry about losing that person’s trust, no matter what the two of you become as individuals. For those of you who have seen your spouse leave you for another, I sympathize. Humans should know they can fall in love with a pile of dirt, if they want to – isn’t that what popular movies and books show us? It’s the person who cares for you who counts, not some stranger who looks good for a few months and wants to take you away from the person who really matters. If anything, we should be angry at those who attempt to steal our love and NOT be attracted to them. Instead, we’re temporarily blinded by “love” (lust in disguise, for the most part). Such is human folly!

As I told another friend on facebook, I hope you find the person you want to take your last breath with. I consider myself very lucky to have found mine at age 12, although I didn’t know it then, which made discovering the fact so much more fun!

In these recessionary times, stress increases, putting pressure on our relationships. If we build a strong foundation, then we can weather these tough times. My wife and I have weathered three recessions and will continue to weather more because our love for each other includes respect in the form of simple financial responsibility. After all, love isn’t rocket science. Put your partner before materialism and see what happens!

30 January 2009

Do you sell short?

In a declining economy, what strategy do you use to build your stock portfolio? After all, if you look at the stock market purely as a form of gambling, then it doesn’t matter what happens to the stock price or its effect on stockholders as long as you’re the one making a profit during a buy or sell.

Or does it?

I’ve played with that idea my whole adult life (a mere 33 years to you oldtimers). Should I just be concerned about profit for me since I see so many others trash the stock or value of companies for their personal gain?

The Bernie Madoffs and Kenneth Lays of the world give me pause.

Am I motivated by profit?

A childhood friend recently invited me to join an MLM group to which he belonged and claimed he was enjoying a healthy profit. Through the years, many friends of mine have invited me to join similar money-making ventures, including the classic Amway pitch and other networking methods involving sharing profit among a hierarchy of participants. After each presentation, I have respectfully declined my friends’ invitation, despite the good life my friends are living based on their MLM success.

Why pass up a sure thing? Why, indeed. Well, what is a ‘sure thing’?

In my business life, I have experienced the ups and downs of economic cycles, enjoying fat bonuses one year while getting no annual raise the next, based on the company’s performance and profit projection. Not once have I declined a bonus check or pay increase so why do I look at selling short or joining an MLM as something different?

Good question. And after watching another economic decline in my lifetime — one that will likely surpass the ones I saw in the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s — I have realized what my answer is:

Fear.
That’s right. Fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear that my actions will cause undue negative consequences for people I may or may not know (selling short). Or taking advantage of other people’s fear of not being accepted (MLM/network marketing).

Most of us belong to one group or another. After all, we’re social animals. We’re all joiners –some of us joiners are leaders and many of us are followers. We often act like the ubiquitous rock doves or common pigeons (Columba livia) you see lined up on building ledges and power lines — establishing a pecking order.

As this global economic decline keeps shaking more and more people out of offices and factories, tens of millions of people will be looking for some way to make a living. They’ll want answers to why they lost their jobs, pecking the ground and each other, hoping someone steps forward with the answers they want to hear.

I’m not a betting man but if I had to make a bet, I would place my wager on the leader(s) who convince people to join up in an MLM or network marketing company that promises to provide economic stability while securing profits and good living for the members and family of the MLM, even selling other companies short in the stock market to build their MLM’s profit. In other words, now is the time to look for people who are promising a glorious future in an “us versus them” scenario. It’s those kind of folks who will deliver on their promises, in both the near-term and quite possibly into the long-term, too, especially if they use emotionally-charged pitches involving religion to get you to join.

History has shown us these kind of schemes have been proposed over and over during economic slumps and there will always be those who join, no matter what. If Bernie Madoff and Kenneth Lay can dupe people during the best of times, look out for who’s coming out of the woodwork in the worst of times!

I won’t sell stocks short and thus, I won’t sell myself short, either. I don’t lecture people, if I can help it, but this time I’m warning you to avoid joining a group whose leaders paint a rosy picture. Just because a guy or gal is nice-looking and has a slick proposal does not mean they have your best interests in mind. Don’t sell yourself short.

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 11:03 AM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: business, finance, investment, market, money, religion, stocks, success

29 January 2009

Dedication for “A Space, A Period, And A Capital”

Does every work of nonfiction/fiction require a dedication? Of course not.

Why have one, then? I don’t know…

Tradition.

Loyalty to our network of supporters, perhaps.

Whatever the reason, here’s my dedication in front of the novel I’m submitting for the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award, “A Space, A Period, And A Capital”:

To Fredirique and Vincent, forever unattached.

To Nicholas, who will see one day that he’s standing
on the debris-covered spiral origins of the Yellow Brick Road.

To Jorge Luis Borges, for showing me the value in

repeating the telling of a story, because parallel universes do exist, if only in our tales.

To other writers, such as
Edgar Allan Poe, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and William S. Burroughs –
your conversations with me in my dreams
taught me to accept myself as I am

and write from my perspective, no one else’s.

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 11:12 AM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: chapter excerpt

28 January 2009

Story idea subplot…

Belle and Maria are a couple of confidence artists who hook up with the main character, Gus, to get his extensive 401(k) retirement holdings, a scheme they cooked up after the 72(t) law was put in place.

Gus met Belle through a mutual email friend. After email exchanges between the two of them, Belle figures out that Gus has a load of financial holdings and is looking for a way to convert the holdings out of 401(k) without substantial penalties.

Belle discusses her new email friend with her best friend, Maria. They decide to introduce Maria to Gus. They email him a cock-and-bull story about themselves as neighbors in Stuy Town, when in fact Belle and Maria had met as prisoners on Rikers Island when they were juvenile delinquents. Through the years their crimes increased in complexity and they spent some time in jail for money laundering, where Belle met her husband, “Don Juan” Pompilian.

Belle emails Gus a story about her husband dying and the fact that she is a financial investor who can help Gus arrange his finances, despite her need to focus on her husband’s medication.

Meanwhile, Don sets up a shadow company that appears it can handle the conversion of 401(k) accounts to 72(t), when in fact all he plans to do is convert Gus’ 401(k) directly into cash for Don, Belle and Maria to split.

After the transaction is completed, Belle informs Gus that her husband has died and she’s going to fulfill his wish to have his ashes buried on the Black Sea, not far from where Don’s family is from in Romania.

Gus spends weeks trying to contact Belle and Maria to find out the status of his 401(k) conversion to no avail. He discovers he’s been duped and goes to Romania in search of the sheisters, following a cold trail that placed them in Constanta.

From there, he travels to the Trans-Siberian Railway, where the main plot continues…

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 1:49 PM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: chapter excerpt, Story

24 January 2009

Chapter excerpt — What Has Been and What Will Be?

15 January 2009. Wow! What a wonderful surprise. I have been walking down memory lane lately, going through a “storage room” in my house (i.e., a spare bedroom), sorting stuff somewhat and finding tidbits that spark strong memories I haven’t had in YEARS! For instance, yesterday I opened a drawer of my student desk (the one I used in high school and college, which still serves as my primary desk in my adult years, too, I guess), and I found a photo of your daughter that you had sent me back in 1998. Of course, I have no memories of her except your mention of her in a letter or two that I received over the years (something about her being able to use a computer (Commodore 64?) when her mother couldn’t at the time? LOL). In any case, I decided to see if she existed in the virtual world and could say hello to her mother, Eimear, in the process.

Lo and behold, the oracle of the Internet gave me a connection between her name and you through an email posted on a comment under a photo on a photographer’s website. As a technology user, I should expect no surprises but I still marvel at the “miracles” of social connections that a mass-communication device like the Internet produces.

Today, I sit in my study (e.g., an uncluttered corner of the storage room/bedroom) and listen to old records from the ’60s, ’70s, and ’80s, using a Christmas present (Brookstone iConvert USB turntable) to convert the vinyl LP albums to electronic form (MP3, in this case) so I can listen to the songs on my computer or portable music player in the future, if I like. At this moment, the album, “More Songs About Buildings And Food,” by the Talking Heads, is playing.

Spider webs flutter in the space between the window and the screen on this sub-freezing day. Looking out the window, I can’t tell it’s almost 25 deg F below normal. The sky is clear. Birds jump from limb to limb. A wild holly waves its green leaves at me in the slight breeze while a deciduous cousin hangs its red berries for any interested animals to carry off and spread the deciduous holly’s seeds somewhere else.

I hear noises in the house and figure it’s probably our cats in the living room, squirrels in the attic, mice in the walls, a cat and/or possum in the crawl space or just a house popping its joints in this awful weather. The raccoons and bats may have gotten into the chimney again. Who knows?

Such are my days in early 2009, enjoying a midlife retirement, writing and watching the world go by. I’ll tell you why, since you sort of asked me in an email.

My wife’s brother died rather suddenly in June 2006 at the age of 51 — he had blood clots in his legs that over a two-day period spread to his lungs and then into his heart, causing cardiac arrest and death. Although he was in the ICU section of a hospital, they could not revive him. Hey, if they can’t save you in a hospital, your time has come! My brother in-law and his family are avid participants in the activities of a large Baptist church in Huntsville so they were surrounded by their church friends immediately after my brother in-law passed away. I acted as the oldest male in the family during the visitation at the funeral home, greeting people at the head of the line, hearing their stories about my brother in-law and all the good feelings he left in others. At the memorial at his church, many hundreds of people showed up (one guess was 1500 people but I think it was exaggerated to make the family feel better; at a church of 5000 people, something less than 1000 must seem small). Again, the minister and friends exclaimed the glories of my brother in-law: church elder, Sunday school teacher, Boy Scout leader, emergency ham radio operator, NASA physicist, supportive co-worker, etc. In addition, over the next few months, we attended commemorative events at NASA for my brother in-law’s work on a gamma-ray observatory to be launched on a satellite (it launched successfully in June of 2008 and is called the Fermi Gamma-ray Space Telescope (more details at: http://fermi.gsfc.nasa.gov/)).

From that point on, I realized more than ever that there’s a higher chance of mortality for us as we hit our middle years.

Thus, even though my vocational work satisfied my bosses and customers (as well as my wife), I felt dissatisfied. My job at the time, senior program manager, meant I had to travel from coast to coast in America as well as to a few European countries. When I traveled, I had a lot of spare time to examine my life, wondering if I had completed all the tasks I had assigned myself when I was younger (in other words, my life’s dreams) and would get the same sort of reaction to my life’s work as my brother in-law if I died suddenly.

Now I know you have harped on me in the past about putting my life in the hands of the Lord. So had my grandmother (now deceased). Although my brother in-law and his family belong to a Southern Baptist church, they have not performed the usual task of handing me Bible tracts. Instead, they have observed the work I do for friends and family and come to the conclusion that, in their belief, the Lord works in mysterious ways and therefore I give to others in wonderful ways even if I don’t do these things explicitly in the name of their Lord and Saviour.

So, anyway…well, you can see I’m a bit long-winded here. Blame it on your influence on me, even after all these years!

As I traveled, I continued to write in my journals. I also wrote letters to friends, poems for myself and others, short stories for my nieces and nephews and fooled around with the idea of completing some good novels. More importantly, I contemplated my dream of having a novel published and formally reviewed professionally.

All my adult life I have written in my journals during work hours. Through these observations I have constructed interesting story lines, many based on real life, which would make a mildly interesting plot. The older I’ve grown, the more complicated the story lines have become. Well, after my brother in-law died, I felt this burning desire to get a novel written and published more than ever. I found myself drifting from thoughts of work to thoughts of plots and subplots. My work didn’t suffer in the classic sense but my maniacal drive to make my job the perfect embodiment of my life declined somewhat. I realized what was going on and coordinated with my boss to offload some of the 12- to 15-hour a day duties so that I could work just 8- to 10-hour days like the rest of my coworkers, freeing up time to work on my novel ideas. This extra time gave me the taste of blood, so to speak — I felt like a vampire pursuing its next victim. I wanted to write my “Great” novel!

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I asked my boss if I could work part-time or take a leave of absence so I could finish the novel (as well as take care of an ailing mother in-law). I went back and forth with him, his boss, and the human resources department to see what they could do to accommodate my request. The company had never granted a leave of absence except for medical emergencies. Therefore, we compromised and I retired from the company with a severance package. My boss’ boss did not want to see me go because he had hired me originally and knew the contribution I had given the company but understood that sometimes a person has to do what he has to do. That was in July 2007.

I was free at last! In celebration, I wrote the following poem:

These are my skyscrapers

No Empire State Building,
No Sears Tower or
Big Ben.

They shelter me nonetheless.
Tall,
Slender,
Alive –
Here without any assistance from my kind.

I cannot describe the noise rain makes upon their leaves…
— White noise?
— Light applause?

They bend to accept the wetness.

If only I had a palette of colors to describe them,
To make up for starving phrases like
“shades of green” and “variations of brown.”

They do not talk.
They speak of time.

Summer showers pass
And now they bend toward the sun.

I’m nothing but a lucky observer –
Fortune smiles upon me –
While standing beneath the treed canopy,
White noise giving way to dripping sounds,
Rising and falling with the passing breeze.

The bluejays call.
A hickory nut plops.
A cardinal chirps.
The finches reappear.

I’d rather scrape the sky with trees
Than touch the clouds with glass and steel.

10th July 2007

===============================

Immediately, I threw myself into my writing, completing a novel in October 2007, “Are You With The Program?” (in a nutshell, the story is a description of a labyrinth that a worker must get through in order to reach retirement; the opening page is a description of the hieroglyphic script on the door to the labyrinth. In other words, this novel is a metaphor and everything is not as it seems.). Well, as luck would have it, the folks at amazon.com had teamed up with Penguin Books and HP to host a writing contest called the “Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award.” I had a couple of weeks to edit the novel and get it submitted in time for the November contest deadline. There were a total of about 5000 entries for the contest. Only 836 novels made the cut to the semifinalist stage in January, including mine. All semifinalists received a formal review by Publishers Weekly. Again, including mine! A novel of mine reviewed by a professional! I had achieved my life’s goal.

Gee. That was too easy. Retire in July. Finish a novel in October. Get a professional review by the following January. Maybe I should think about this more seriously?

I also received reviews by Amazon regulars (“top reviewers”), including the following:

Amazon Top Reviewer
The prose style is mostly graceful and competent, but studded with some compound sentences that are way too complex and which run on way too long. I know this is being done for comic effect, but it still gets in the reader’s way. It’s being carried way too far in places. The idea seems to be a corporate satire involving an overlooked research and development organization specializing in … I’m not sure. Software? Architecture? There’s not enough here to give me a feeling for this organization’s place in the overall structure. Are they competing against other organizations? Facing layoff or merger? Working towards a prize? I get no sense of what conflict faces these people, and little sense of the main character other than his sense of humor. An entire scene flashes back to the spider incident in the first-person narrator’s childhood and seems to be there just to establish the narrator’s quirkiness. I was on board with that back when everyone threw doughnuts at each other. This should be rewritten for a faster start which involves some sense of conflict. What’s at stake here? That’s where the plot will come from.
Oh, and by the way, here’s the professional review:

Editorial Reviews
manuscript review by Publishers Weekly, an independent organization

This ponderous novel is about as exciting as a corporate annual report. What starts out as a modestly interesting virtual reality thriller quickly degenerates into a slog through one bland middle manager’s life in the world of software engineering. Bruce Colline, the narrator, works for the software company Cumulo Seven. Its program, Qwerty-Queue, may or may not have something to do with influencing financial markets, but that’s never made clear, thus robbing the story of what little suspense it offers. Dozens of interchangeable characters clutter the novel, and their insipid dialogue is filled with jargon that will put even computer geeks to sleep (“I got with Fawn to go over her programs, including Tirelem, RRR and Perencles”). At the few points where the plot develops a modicum of forward momentum, the author quickly dispatches Bruce to a conference call, a meeting or his email. By the end, even the author has grown tired of slathering words on the page (“The moment was special, unforgettable and yet, difficult to put into words.”). Instead of unraveling an absorbing mystery, Bruce merely stumbles upon some mundane truths about corporate America.
Well, be careful what you ask for. I had told myself I wanted to receive a professional review. I didn’t say what kind of review, especially if the reviewer does not understand the metaphorical subtlety and judges the book by its cover, so to speak.

My friends who had read both the novel and the reviews felt like I had performed a great job. After all, I hacked together a novel in a few months, spent almost no time editing it down to the well-tuned essence of an almost-great story and yet received professional recognition, more than the majority of writers ever get. A friend of mine wrote me a note of encouragement, ending with the quote by Scott Adams, “Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes. Art is knowing which ones to keep.” In other words, I am a creative person but that doesn’t necessarily make me an artist. So be it. I still like to write and won’t stop!

And now, a year later, here I am, writing another long-winded piece, this time a letter to a dear, dear friend of mine from 30 years ago.

Where have we gone in 30 years? You have reached a state of happiness, pleased with who you are, a bit larger in body than when we dated 30 years ago (but just think of it as your body catching up to your beautifully large personality), and still married to the man you share an offspring with.

Yeah, just like you, I’m bigger than I was in that picture, too. I think I weighed 165 pounds back then. The last I weighed a couple of days ago, I was 230 pounds (and that’s after losing 10 pounds since Christmas). My goodness, 65 pounds! That sounds so much bigger than it looks in person, I can tell you. LOL

Eimear, I’m happy to hear you’ve been able to raise your child using home-schooling. My brother in-law and his wife home-schooled their two kids. The oldest graduated from college with a 4.0 GPA in Computer Engineering in 2006 (a month before his father died) and the youngest is in her last semester in Nursing at college with a 4.0 GPA, also. Needless to say, they get their smarts from my wife’s side of the family!

I started college in 1980 with high hopes. Life gave me an alternative path, which I couldn’t resist, so I followed the road less traveled for a while, finished an associate’s degree in 1985 and got around to completing my bachelor’s degree in 2001 at the University of Alabama in Huntsville with a major in MIS (Management Information Systems) and a minor in math.

My wife and I still live in the first house we bought in 1987 for $91,900 (using $5,000 her father loaned us as a down payment), financing $87,000. We paid off the house last year. The 1.3 acre lot next door to us came up for sale in 2006 for $50,000. We decided it wasn’t worth it. A builder bought the lot and erected a 3,800 sq ft home in 2007. He put the house up for sale last week for $494,000!!!! If you could see the odd juxtaposition of our rundown 1,800 sq ft home versus the monstrosity next door, you would laugh. I have a rusted 1962 Dodge Lancer and smashed 1992 Chevy S10 truck sitting in the side yard on one side of the house. In the side yard facing the new house, I have four tires holding an eroding ditch together, two plastic chairs from Wal-Mart covered with algae (plus a clematis growing through and around them), and a preformed pond liner from Home Depot turned upside down, looking like a turtle all curled up. Oh, and a pile of lumber from the back deck I took apart when we had a sunroom added to the back of our house in 2001.

Why am I telling you all this? I guess because at one point I wanted to impress you with how great my life had become but now I realize it’s more important to show you the real me – a country boy who’s lived the city life, almost falsely. I know who I am now — I am a person who was raised to appreciate technological advances in society and to set my life’s work in that area. At the same time, I am a lazy country bumpkin who’s just as happy to sit and watch the world go by, letting his house fall apart around him in the process. I don’t need a fancy house or a fancy car, an expensive vacation or jetsetting lifestyle. I’m happy just sitting here writing a letter to a friend of mine and could sit here writing this letter the rest of my life, no matter how good, great, poor, non-artistic or outlandish the writing may be.

I’m glad you’re writing. I would enjoy reading your work. By chance (if you believe there’s such a thing as chance), back in December while working on my latest novel I added a character loosely based on you (see, I think of you, too – you should see all the pictures of us and others I posted on facebook). I plan to submit that novel for the next “Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award” contest, which takes place in February. The novel still needs some editing so it’s not quite finished yet. Hopefully, it will be polished enough to garner attention from an editor for the contest.

Eimear, I guess we’ve seen enough of the world to know what we like. For the most part, I wake up each morning and go to bed every night with a smile on my face. The world is just fine to me, no matter if the mass media news outlets and bloggers want to paint a negative picture about the global economy. I see that I won’t make more than a tiny bit of difference in how the solar system or galaxy is going to be 200 million years from now and that makes me happy. I made a small difference and that is enough. All the rest of it, no matter whether you’re Bill Gates, Hillary Clinton or Joe the Plumber, is just a relative measurement of an iota.

You remember that coworker of yours that got on your nerves because he/she kept saying, “C’est la vie”? I believe your response was life is what we make of it and not what happens to us so we shouldn’t just accept what happens. Well, I’ve come to the conclusion that maybe your coworker was right in one sense. We’re middle-aged now, wiser and [supposedly] smarter. I’ve also come to the conclusion that life is a little of both of what you said. Sometimes we make things happen and sometimes life makes things happen to us. Either way, we’re here to talk about it and for me that is enough, n’est pas?

My wife has been patient during this midlife retirement of mine but thinks it’s time I get back to a regular source of income (i.e., a “desk job”) and maybe she’s right. Just like your husband depends on you for certain aspects of life, I’ve depended on my wife for quite a bit. She stayed with me during dark episodes of my life that I’m not sure I would have stuck around for if our roles were reversed (of course, I know I would have but sometimes I look at the old me and wonder why she stayed with me then). Now, I owe her the gratitude of going back into the moneymaking world.

As you and I know, it’s who we count as friends that make this life worth living. I recall many a moment of the short time we shared together (two, maybe three months) and savor each one like a finely aged cheese or a rare bottle of vintage wine. I sometimes walk through a crowd and smell the perfume you used to wear (Tiempo?). How many people have you stayed up with until 5 a.m. in the morning just for the sake of talking? For me, not many (maybe one or two, at most, including…let’s see, probably only my sister, my wife and Helen, oh and a couple of party buddies from college who are still good friends of mine). Little could I have imagined the influence you would have on my life. Same goes for your parents and your brother. He is still the most overall intelligent/creative person I’ve ever met. Your mother taught me so much in so little time — as much as I adore and love my mother in-law, I often wish your mother had been my mother in-law because of her special laughter and kindness that clearly showed up in you (no doubt, your daughter carries on those traits). Your father showed me the importance of being a laid-back father, which I have carried into my role as an uncle.

Thinking back, I remember the days and weeks disappeared and our months together ended just as quickly as they began. Could we have only been together for two months or at least less than three? First loves are like that, I guess. A candle that burns too bright or burns from both ends. I lost all contact with the outside world during that time and have no idea what the rest of my friends were doing –- they said they thought they’d lost me. You were the only world that mattered to me. Nothing the matter with that, right?

I will always remember our short time together with fondness. Even though I want to think you loved me for my mind, we didn’t need long to progress through the stages of love. Our relationship leapt quickly from a platonic getting-to-know-you-better into a discovery of the body that I never expected. In other words, you spoiled me but shocked me, too. Do you recall sitting in a church parking lot with my father, asking about sex? If your long-term memory no longer holds that scene in your head, you’re missing a funny story to tell your daughter. The memories of our relationship kept me going physically for years. In fact, I went from being with you, when touching, hugging, kissing, etc., were par for the course, to a long-term relationship with Helen. Would you believe that in the years that I spent together with Helen, we never really hugged (although we did put our arms around each other for photographs) and in fact, we never so much as kissed or participated in other normal physical relationships that a male and female share. Do you see what I’m saying? My need for physical contact was consumed by you and me in two or three months and lasted for years to come, until I started dating my wife.

I seem to remember you having had cervical cancer at one point in your life but I did not know about the heart attack. I’m happy that you have a loving husband and daughter who helped you recover from the body ailments. I’m sorry that you lost long-term memories. I would love to have talked with you to see if you remember any details about our time together that I have forgotten. Some things I can recall with ease, such as when you and another girl used to put me in special poses on the band practice field. I remember our first night together, including running out of gas in the middle of Blountville, getting Dad to put gas in the car, eating pickles, baking cookies, talking, talking and more talking, and finally, a peck kiss at the door. I remember a special moment in the bathroom at your house, other similar moments together, including in a school parking lot and at a local park. I remember you taking me into the girls’ locker room at Central, sneaking me in as a joke and a surprise for the girls in there. I remember visiting your grandmother and eating ice cream at a local burger joint. I remember talking with your parents.

Glad to hear your daughter has found love at the same age we were (I still can’t believe it’s been 30 years ago for us). I suppose you’ll watch your daughter go through the same pangs of love that we did. As far as her wanting to be a photographer, I hope you show your daughter how to twirl a baton before she graduates ‘cause as a photographer she’s going to be juggling and spinning a busy schedule around!

I have lived a good first half of my life and happily include you in it. The second half of my life brings many new surprises and joys. Perhaps we can all meet up sometime to see what we expect of life in our 50s, 60s, 70s and beyond!

Well, I’ve had too much tea to drink and my bladder tells me to go to the bathroom so I’m losing my ability to think and write right now. Plus, I’ve got to go figure out what to fix for dinner tonight. If I could cook, I’d fix a big batch of chili. Instead, I’ll see what frozen delight is available in the freezer for this househusband to heat up.

By the way, during the year between the two novel contests, I have been caring for my 91-year old mother in-law, who lives in Rogersville, TN. I have lived with her on and off for weeks at a time, especially during periods when she’s in and out of the hospital or rehab unit at a nursing home. Amazingly enough, she can still drive around town. I have tried to make up for her dead son and must be succeeding. She no longer refers to me as her son in-law but calls me her son. One time, while we sat and watched a baseball game on TV, she mistook me for her husband and talked about my wife as if she were our daughter. Talk about a great surreal moment for a poem or novel! I just hope there’s someone in my life, if my wife is no longer living, who can share moments with me like that when I’m an old geezer. My mother in-law spent 20 years caring for her sick husband and valued her freedom after he died in 1997 (although she would never put it like that), including a trip to the Holy Land with a friend of hers. However, loneliness finally set in with old age and I think until I gave her attention she felt she was ready to die. Now she sees that she brings out the best in people, including me, and wants to continue to live to make others’ lives more fulfilling, and thus hers, too, in the process.

Okay, my bladder is screaming. Gotta go! Forgive my bad writing. I haven’t got time to go back and edit what I babbled on about.

Say hello to your parents and brother for me. Talk to you soon. I want to read your writing, even if it would embarrass me.

One last thing before I go. You probably don’t remember when we communicated after I had decided to marry my wife but you told me you were upset, at least half-jokingly, that I had not given you a chance to get us back together before I married someone else. In my mind at the time, I was too blind to see that you were right. Why hadn’t I seen that the relationship I had with you, no matter how brief, had flown to the stratospheric reaches of the sky with the audacity to throw love in the face of the gods and quickly fallen from the excessive heat, like Icarus and his wings? It had not died, though. Love does not die. It smolders in the ashes, waiting to be reborn.

I had no hand in creating, bearing, or raising your child. I can only hope that in your daughter a piece of our love has been reborn in her so that she can understand and fully appreciate the strength, joy and special moments she shares when overpowering love touches her head and heart. As you mentioned in your myspace writing, these overpowering moments in our youth set the foundation for the rest of our lives that we build upon forever more.

I have spent more time than I thought I would drafting this email and have yet to cover all the topics I thought about over the last night or two as I set about creating a mental outline from which to direct my thoughts to you electronically. Thus, my time has run out and now I must attend to my domestic duties, figuring out what to fix my wife and me for dinner.

Thanks for being my friend. I value the no-nonsense/no-games aspect of our give-and-take through the years. We ask nothing of each other except honesty and an open ear. Let’s hope our minds keep working, even if our bodies don’t!

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 1:09 PM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: chapter excerpt, General

19 January 2009

Every Day Is Special

I dedicate this day to a coworker and friend of mine, Jay Hereford, who taught me many moons ago that the color of your skin is irrelevant to what you can or cannot accomplish. Jay, I still remember sitting at home after calling in “sick” and watching the Million Man March, listening to the convoluted speech by Louis Farrakhan and feeling glad that I live in a country that has made so much progress in allowing free speech by people of all colors on the national stage. Along with Joyce Battle and Jackie Crutcher, you let me be me so that we could enjoy a work environment without undertones of racial bias so prevalent in certain workplaces of the South.

I wish you never had to call in sick to celebrate Martin Luther King, Jr, Day. May tomorrow and the rest of the term of U.S. President served by Barack Hussein Obama be a blessing to you.

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 9:47 AM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: General, government, Martin Luther King Jr, success

13 January 2009

Chapter Excerpt – Rational Exuberance

17^th December. Sitting here at midnight with a copy of the novel, “Wide Sargasso Sea,” by Jean Rhys. Reminds me of the book, “Black Elk Speaks,” introduced to me by my enigmatic friend, Helen, with whom I shared the universe of ideas that no one else could see or understand. Even now, after nearly 23 years living with my wonderful wife, I still feel an ache of absence for Helen. She and I held no traditional romantic notions for each other so I will never speak of a broken heart – more like a disconnected mind, a separation of souls, if you will.

My wife and I understand each other physically and share the same interests. Helen and I were mentally connected somehow. The closest I’ve come in comparing my relationship with her exists in the friendships I formed first with my sister and then with my first girlfriend, Reneé Dobbs, with whom I held a school-based relationship from third grade until she died in fifth grade – Platonism personified. I have wanted to put in words what Helen has meant to me and failed to find the perfect poetic form of expression, except in a poem I gave her of which she has the only copy, and in my best book-sized attempt, “Helen of Kosciusko,” a novel of ideas and expressions.

I do not claim a high enough level of intelligence to express what Helen and I experienced together. In fact, the pain of my separation from her clouds my judgment and prevents me from comprehending in an impartial manner what Helen seemed to know when she told me clearly, “Don’t be confused,” after I told her I wasn’t sure what our friendship was all about.

Therefore, I gave up trying to decipher our coded conversations and accepted them for what they were – the definition of a friendship outside space and time. What we had I may never describe to myself or the world satisfactorily.

My wife has always seen Helen as a threat because, even though my wife is the smartest woman I know, she hasn’t seen that Helen and I existed together on another plane, far distant from any type of “normal” relationship that gets in the way of two people in love.

Helen will always be a part of me. We were buddies, pals, kindred spirits but never lovers. Many girls thought because Helen and I ran around together, we naturally were sexually involved with each other so the girls did not want to get in the way until Helen and I stopped dating. But Helen and I never dated. We just were one person and another person doing things together. Does that make sense? I don’t know. We were both happy for the other to get married.

Helen believes in Christ and the simple fact that our purpose on this planet is to glorify God by having children that also honors your father and mother in the process. I do not believe in an omniscient creator of the universe and thus have no need to worship and honor my ancestors. I have not produced offspring because I have felt no need to put a copy of myself or my parents on this planet. Helen has known this about me for a long time. She and her husband have been able to honor their parents with kids. My wife and I have been able to give our parents the care and attention that only childless couples can devote themselves to, conflict-free.

As much as I would have liked to hang out with Helen, I knew the day would come when her serious need to fulfill family obligations overrode my desire to have fun. She completed her college degree while I…well, I continued my journey of self-discovery.

Neither Helen nor I are the people we were. I know of my old self and know almost nothing of Helen’s new self. That is why I am here now. I am thinking on paper about why I still remember Helen fondly, why I believe there is still much territory of the mind I could discover with her but probably won’t, due to current circumstances. I only hope that in her offspring a little of our time together has rubbed off and perhaps one of them can continue exploring, looking for the hidden treasures of the mind. If that happened, then I can die a happy man.

I chose never to try to impress Helen’s father that I would make a good son in-law for him. I knew he and I would not see eye-to-eye. However, no matter how “badly” he may think I influenced Helen, I thank him for the daughter that he and his wife raised and put in my life. I thank Helen’s husband for the support he gave Helen as they raised their kids together. Both these men gave Helen what I could not give or ever planned to give her – a family.

I have continued to explore the mind by myself, going slowly to ensure that I record what I’ve discovered since I don’t have a companion like Helen to help me interpret what I see. My wife does not explore minds – she lives in the present and deals with everyday reality, allowing me the freedom to dig into the thought process. I would not trade my wife for anyone but I still would like to see the world through Helen’s eyes, to know once and for all if she and I have uncovered the same secrets (or the fact that there really are no secrets, just experiences that not everyone else has had). I have always believed that Helen and I could advance the evolution of the human mind; we would prove that the multiple streams of thought inside individuals can simultaneously occur in others’ thought processes in such a way that a synergy forms between all members of the human species, opening up instant understanding of the manner in which we are all uniquely motivated to live. Once this unveiling occurs, we will break the fear and terror that binds too many people and instead demonstrate that our general self interest to survive can be channeled to help all humans thrive without repression, lies and deception. Helen and I would train others to look beyond superficial means of communication – how we dress, how we use facial expressions, how we speak, how we write – and delve into the deeper layers that put aside our cultural and individual personality traits so that we can find the universal human self we all share. After we get that training accomplished, there’s no holding back what humans can do together, regardless of our particular quirks, handicaps, or capabilities. In fact, we’ll do better because of them.

If Helen can instill (or has instilled) just a little bit of this in her kids, nieces, and nephews, there is hope for the future. I am trying to instill this in my nieces and nephews and know there is hope for the future. Perhaps you and your kids can do the same. It is a legacy I would proudly share with Helen, no matter whether we ever see each other or talk together again.

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 8:21 PM 0 comments Links to this post

12 January 2009

Another taste of spring

Spring in north Alabama arrives in spurts, backtracks and hides in the folds of winter’s icy coat, bursts forth out of nowhere with celebratory song, gets slapped around and cut down by Arctic clippers and finally, with an air of confidence that befits spring in a more southerly climate, settles in for a few short weeks before summer stomps in like a bargain-hunting bull in a going-out-of-business Waterford china shop.

Yesterday, as I gazed out the dining room French doors, questioning whether I should step into the chilly sunroom, I saw my next sign of spring (the first being the daffodils, marsh marigold, Star of Bethlehem, Lenten rose and daylilies poking their way up through fallen leaves) — goldfinches in their winter attire, pecking at the nyjer bird seed feeders.

The birds arrived just in time for a cold snap due to freeze this part of the world over the next few days. Oh well, at least they give me hope that wherever they’ve been, they still like to stop by my backyard for nourishment in preparation for the rites of spring. Won’t be long before hummingbirds come back. And although I like their profiles in the stark naked trees, crows will leave these woods soon, I’m sure, for warmer climes.

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 3:47 PM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: chapter excerpt, General, novel

10 January 2009

State of the World 22 Years Later

In the here and now, looking back over 22 years since the purchase of my first (and only) primary living quarters commonly called a house, I review the State of the World report (subtitled A Worldwatch Institute Report on Progress Toward a Sustainable Society) published in the same year, 1987. Beside me, a vinyl LP album titled Radio-Activity by Kraftwerk converts from analog to digital format so that in the future I may listen to the MP3 version of this album from 1975. I drink a glass of blackberry wine from Keg Springs Winery.

The contents of the 1987 report are as follows:

1. Thresholds of Change, by Lester R. Brown and Sandra Postel
2. Analyzing the Demographic Trap, by Lester R. Brown
3. Assessing the Future of Urbanization, by Lester R. Brown and Jodi Jacobson
4. Reassessing Nuclear Power, by Christopher Flavin
5. Electrifying the Third World, by Christopher Flavin
6. Realizing Recycling’s Potential, by Cynthia Pollock
7. Sustaining World Agriculture, by Lester R. Brown
8. Raising Agricultural Productivity, by Edward C. Wolf
9. Stabilizing Chemical Cycles, by Sandra Postel
10. Designing Sustainable Economies, by William U. Chandler
11. Charting a Sustainable Course, by Lester R. Brown and Edward C. Wolf

The book poses the following statements:

• Economic activity could be approaching a level where future growth in gross world product costs more than it is worth.
• By 2000, three out of five cities with populations of 15 million or more will be in the Third World.
• Over two-thirds of the people in most European countries are now against the construction of nuclear plants.
• More than half the cities in the United States will exhaust their current landfills by 1990.
• Climate change could carry a global price tag of $200 billion for irrigation adjustments alone.
• The existing scientific effort falls short of what is needed to assess the impacts of human activity on the global environment.
• For some of the major adjustments facing humanity, a relatively small number of countries hold the key to success.

For some of these statements, the future has fulfilled the promises implied. For others, I have yet to decide if the statements were sufficiently detailed to point to a future “answer.”

Al Gore’s “An Inconvenient Truth” has covered much of the territory that the Worldwatch Institute discusses in their annual report so I’m not here to repeat, support, deny or imply any opinion in the realm of statistical data about sustainable societies. What I do know is that the house next door to me is now for sale at the astonishing price of $494,000, a far cry from the $91,900 I paid for mine 22 years ago, a 538% increase in neighborhood house value, even in today’s depressed housing market!

What does that say about the rest of the world?

For instance, a gallon of gas should cost almost $5 by now in the United States and it did, briefly, late last year. It’s back down to less than $2 again, however.

What does that mean to me?

Well, looking at the 1987 State of the World report, I expect I would find that extrapolated predictions may or may not match a calculated formulaic rise that one item we all use has followed. Too many extenuating circumstances, too many factors accounted and not accounted for get in the way of seeing the future clearly.

Therefore, when I hear politicians and experts making claims that their plans will make the future better, I smile to myself, knowing that the likelihood of all the claims lining up with plans is small. Not impossibly small and not impossible. Just small. There’s a chance all the claims and plans will line up as if everyone knew they would and made it happen.

I will stay the course. I will continue to invest in the stock market, put money in mutual funds, buy bonds, watch my neighborhood for suspicious activity and…you know what, that last one is a doozy, because everything is suspicious to me – no wonder Clint Eastwood decided to make the movie, “Gran Torino.” You try watching your neighborhood to determine what is ‘normal’ activity against which you can decide that something stands out enough for you to call a neighbor or police. But I digress.

The state of the world is changing every second. We can track trends and guess within fairly accurate limits where we can make our next measurement. We know species will lose sustainable environments and disappear from the face of the Earth forever. We also know that the human population will continue growing, but not indefinitely.

I say, so what? Billions of people have no control over the state of the world. They (we?) live rather uneventful lives by world recognition standards. Instead of preaching about the general state of the world, let’s talk about what we’re going to do tomorrow to put food on our individual tables.

I want to eat three or four small meals each day, with the first meal, breakfast, already determined – three/fourths of a cup of oatmeal, three tablespoons of ground flax seed, a cup of tea and a banana an hour later. For a middle-aged man, that meal is sufficient. What about for you? What’s sufficient to get your day started? I doubt it’s preprocessed refined sugar wrapped around a square, rectangle or toroid object. If you believe it is, then ask yourself what exactly you are eating and where it came from.

See, it’s not some pie-in-the-sky state of the world report that makes a difference in how you’re using the world and leaving it in a better shape for your next generation. It’s really only a matter of how you go through the day, each hour and minute doing whatever it is that you do to say you make a difference in your circle of influence.

Oh, and in case you hadn’t looked at the link to 1987 above, there was a stock market crash that year:

• US Stock Market Crashed on Monday, October 19th, 1987 with a 508 point drop or 22.6%.
• Stock markets around the world followed with falls, by the end of October Australia had fallen 41.8%, Canada 22.5%, Hong Kong 45.8%, and the United Kingdom 26.4%.
• The World’s Population reached approx five billion (5,000,000,000).

And guess what, despite all the doom-and-gloom news that year, we’re still here. Yes, the average world temperature is a little warmer, and before long, ship traffic through the Arctic Ocean in summer will be unfettered while at the same time the only polar bears may be the ones in zoos. I’m not saying the world will be a better place or a worse place 22 years from now, if you and I are still around to talk about it. I’m just saying that to become the quiet millionaire next-door, you gotta stick to a plan. Money doesn’t grow on trees, it grows in the marketplace of ideas. Some ideas will falter. But many of them will grow and take your investments up to new heights.

Pick a plan. I don’t care what it is but make it a smart one. Just like a treehouse built in a single tree is more likely to fall than one spread among several trees, you should spread your investments around. That’s about as smart as it gets. Playing the odds, not playing it odd.

How about in 22 years, you and I meet up in a space hab unit for a few days of weightless spa treatments? Maybe a vacation arranged by the company that will buy out Bigelow Aerospace in the future, including a flight on Virgin Galactic. I’ll go ahead and set my calendar now for the 10th of January 2031. Of course, by then we’ll have some sort of biological implants that’ll let us communicate “telepathically” so when our brain patterns match up while we’re getting our epidermis revitalized and our DNA rejuvenated, we can compare notes on how well the past 22 years have been to those of us who weren’t spooked by the occasional dip, drop or plop in the world economy. We can ROFL with LOL all we want by then!

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 10:22 PM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: business, finance, General, investment, market, money, stocks, technology

08 January 2009

My Review of iConvert™ USB Turntable

Originally submitted at Brookstone

Our USB turntable converts old records to MP3 files instantly—no computer necessary! It’s incredibly easy to use. Just insert a flash drive or SD®/MMC® memory card, play your album, and press “record.” Your favorite songs are instantly transformed into digital MP3 files. You don’t need to u…

iConvert™ USB Turntable

 

Tape penny on stylus for scratchy record

By bigcove from Big Cove, AL on 1/8/2009

 

4out of 5

Gift: Yes

Pros: Good Protection, Easy to Set Up, Fits Well, Stylish, Adds Functionality, Lightweight, Durable

Cons: Flimsy

Best Uses: Daily Usage

Describe Yourself: Avid Listener

Primary use: Personal

I have a vinyl LP collection that I haven’t heard in almost 25 years. This iConvert record-to-MP3 player has brought my high school and college years back to life. The setup was easy but I recommend taping a penny on top of the stylus arm (above and behind the needle) – the extra weight seems to keep the needle moving forward without skipping for all but the largest scratches.

[Audacity software will help you edit out excess noise if you want to download and learn it.]

Higher bit rates helps make the MP3 converted music richer.

(legalese)

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 10:33 PM 0 comments Links to this post

Prayers do not require a religion

Regardless of your belief and/or practice in an established religion, prayer and positive thoughts for others benefits you and the people for whom you direct your meditative thoughts.

Please pray for my friends in Israel, Lebanon, and other Middle East countries. I got word from a high school mate of mine, Baruch, a Breslev Chassid who lives in northern Israel, that a bomb landed in his neighborhood today – please pray for him and others in that part of the world as they work through this difficult time with their neighboring countries whose militant and dissident occupants use violence to achieve their ends:

This morning we awoke to the sound of an exploding Katyusha, just a block and a half away. It landed on the top floor of a nursing home around 7:35 this morning. Two injuries were reported due to the scattering debris. Thank God we are okay. Again, at 10:55 this morning a siren alerted us to another attack possible attack. Reports indicate that Hamas in Southern Lebanon is responsible for the attacks in the North, but whose fooling whom here. My wife just told me that two rockets exploded in Nahariyya this morning. The location of the second will be reported later, once we determine its location.

For those who want a deeper insight into what’s going on here in Israel. Hashem (God) is wanting to draw us closer to Him. It’s like when a child tugs at your leg, you really don’t pay attention until the child starts climbing your leg or crying. That’s kind of what’s going on now. Hashem wants to get our attention and draw us closer to him. He only wants us to rely solely on Him and no one or anything else.

Please also pray for my friends in Ireland. The recession is very tough on my friends in southwestern Ireland. Every week it seems another larger employer is closing down or announcing major layoffs. Please pray for them as they find employment more and more difficult to attain:

Dell confirms plans to shed 1,900 jobs in Limerick
By Louisa Nesbitt and Ian Guider Thursday January 08 2009, Independent.ie

Dell Inc., the world’s second-biggest personal-computer maker, will cut almost 2,000 jobs in Limerick in a cost-cutting measure.

The company plans to move all manufacturing from the Raheen facility to Poland over the next 12 months following a global review of its operations.

The measures at the 18-year-old Dell plant, which became a symbol of the Celtic Tiger boom years, dealt another blow to the economy with unemployment already at its highest level in more than a decade.

Dell employs about 4,300 people in Ireland. Around 1,900 people will lose their jobs as a result, while thousands more ancillary jobs could also be at risk in the mid-west region.

The lay-offs will begin in April and will be completed by January of next year.

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 10:13 AM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: General, religion

07 January 2009

Visions From Youth

In high school, I had a vision and wrote about it in my English composition class (Mrs. Bryant was the teacher’s name), doing what all writers do, turning a vision into a short story:

The occupants of the space station, two women and five men aboard, would witness the world economy in the midst of a severe infrastructure collapse and wonder how they’d return to Earth safely. At that moment, an object from space hits Earth and destroys almost every living thing. The astronauts / cosmonauts / taikonauts then have to figure out how to survive and keep the human species going.

The story ends with the occupants deciding to split into two teams. One team will return to Earth and attempt to repopulate on the ground. The other team will remain in the space station and preserve technology for the future, attempting to navigate over to other orbiting objects (satellites, space debris, etc.) to build a space raft that would be maneuvered into a high enough orbit that its rate of orbital decay would take decades to crash into Earth. The reader is left with a sense of hope that the ingenuity of humans will help the species survive.
I read this article about a “perfect space storm” and wondered if that could be part of my vision.

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 11:25 AM 1 comments Links to this post

Labels: General, Story, technology

03 January 2009

Launch Delayed Due to Fog

The woman who doesn’t believe in or have dreams appeared in one of my dreams last night. That one and another dream stand out among the untold REM thoughts I had.

Lately, a few months after seeing people in nursing homes who have no quality of life left ahead of them and just last week, after seeing similar people in the hospital hooked up to a spider web of tubes in their last hours of life, I have wondered if a society should allow self-elimination as a decision to make a major change in the way people live. Needless to say, self-elimination is the choice not to live any longer, but if one has excruciating, unbearable pain in the midst of terminal cancer or faces a fate worse than death, is death of one’s choosing a viable option? Although my life is a happy one, self-elimination is still the a possible decision that looms when I come up on the fear that I might end up a ‘vegetable’ putting costly economic and emotional burdens on family, friends and society.

The first dream I had I can barely remember because the people and their activities in my dream constitute the classic nightmare. They performed acts of unconscionable, deplorable but imaginable violence on people and other animals – murder, torture, cruelty of all sorts – as if their actions had no consequences and they just happened to be torturing and killing that day instead of feeding the poor or attending to the sick. I woke up realizing that if I or someone else chooses self-elimination, then we are no different than those non-conscientious people in my first dream.

The second dream stands out for its theme of hope.

In this part of the world on an early January Saturday morning, fog hangs over the landscape. As I look out on the 270-degree view from the sunroom into the backyard, my eyes wander up the hillside, over the wet leaves, around the big boulders, through the gray and light brown tree stalks and into the fog that obscures a distant view. My dreams will fade away with time like the foggy forest beside me, unless I record all the details while they’re fresh in my mind.

Before I went to sleep last night, I sat up in bed and read “The Epic of Gilgamesh.” The epic tale contains many references to the importance of dreams, just as other ancient texts such as the Talmud and Bible do. Therefore, I am not surprised that my dreams gained more than average importance for me this morning. I attribute the technological aspects of the dream I’m about to recount to the two books I’ve just finished, “Outliers: The Story of Success” and “The Drunkard’s Walk: How Randomness Rules Our Lives,” and the book I’m currently reading, “The Third Chimpanzee: The Evolution and Future of the Human Animal.”

Space exploration serves as a thematic background for me. In last night’s second dream, I found myself sitting with a group of about 70 friends and family, including Gwynn, her husband and children, her parents and other familiar faces. We sat in rows of chairs that were like seats in the cabin of a space shuttle (each row composed of two sets of seven seats divided by a center aisle, with five rows; thus 2 x 5 x 7 = 70). We faced a speaker who pointed at a 3D projection and explained why a particular experimental spacecraft had been built. The space plane he described had two hulls that were like delta wings attached to each other in a hinged manner so that the plane ‘flapped’ to gain momentum. A previous version of the plane used freely sliding weights to cause the hulls to flap up and down but gravity was not sufficient to keep the plane flying so a piston system had been installed to increase the plane’s chance of taking off from the ground and flying into space. The speaker asked for volunteers to ride in the plane during its maiden flight so they could provide weight balance and give a subjective account of the flight.

I sat in the middle of the third row that was in the section on the right side of the aisle facing the speaker. Gwynn sat in the same row but in the middle of the section on the left side of the aisle. She spoke up and joked that all her father’s constant talk about community responsibility (getting good grades in school, having children, chaperoning your kids’ school events, joining social groups, etc.) could be summarized into sending all his offspring onto the plane for the experiment. If the experiment succeeded, Gwynn’s father could point proudly to the bravery and honor that his children and grandchildren have shown. If the experiment failed, why couldn’t he exclaim the same thing, Gwynn asked out loud in a mocking voice, even though he would have no surviving representatives of his genetic output left to hear his wisdom and carry it out?

Gwynn’s father, who sat ahead of me in the first aisle, started to speak and we all turned to face him. “I believe…,” he said, hesitating before continuing, “I believe that you misunderstand my philosophy. Responsibility to the community includes NOT taking unnecessary chances.”

Gwynn laughed. “Dad, that’s where I disagree. Each generation makes its own decisions, even while taking the advice of previous generations into account. I say we all get on that plane and help test this plane.”

Gwynn’s father cleared his throat. “In times of threat such as war, yes, then we must volunteer to protect the community. But this is just a plane, and one limited mainly to space use at that. Our community responsibility does not mean we have to help test a plane of which few citizens will ever use.”

Gwynn laughed again, got up and walked toward the door at the rear of the room.

Her laughter reminded me that I’d had some good times with her when we were in high school together so I followed her to see what she was up to. She slowed down when she saw me so we could walk together.

We walked out of the briefing room and down a corridor that further indicated to me we were inside a vehicle in outer space. Or at least we were in such a vehicle. I had no idea if we were on Earth or in space.

Gwynn motioned us inside a small control room. I could hear the quiet rhythm of hidden machinery, like someone breathing behind me. Gwynn quickly talked me through the uses of the keys and knobs on a panel in front of us, which operated the launch and guidance of a small experimental sphere into the midst of space debris. She then looked at me and laughed again.

“You know what. This experiment is more important than that other one. And for you, even more so, because it involves exactly two people, you and someone else.”

“Really?” I looked back down at the knobs and calculated the risks involved in launching a two-person craft from the space station we were on. I felt someone step in between Gwynn and me and could see out of my peripheral vision the other person was wearing a space suit but no helmet.

I lifted my head and standing next to me was Helen. We smiled at each other with a look of familiarity that spoke of a long time apart and the satisfaction of being back in each other’s company once again.

Helen put her arm around my waist. “Hey.”

“Hello.” I felt a warm glow running up my back from where Helen pressed her hand.

“So you want to go up in this thing with me?”

I smiled even bigger than before, sending signals to Helen that only she and I could interpret, my face saying, ‘There’s no one else I’d want to go out into space on a dangerous mission with.’

She returned the smile, her eyes saying, ‘Of course, what was I thinking?’

I put my arm over her shoulders and looked back at the control panel. “Well, Gwynn, the launch is set for tomorrow night, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Rick, it is.”

I looked at Helen, sighing with the satisfaction of the restoration of my inner peace. “There’s a meteor shower tomorrow…”

“And…” Helen jumped to continue my sentence, as she used to.

“And that means there’s a two in a million chance of our being hit by micrometeors. In other words, of a million meteors of different sizes flying around us, two of them will go undetected and hit our spacecraft, creating untold damage, up to total destruction of the craft. What that means about the rest of them flying around us and their influence on our flight, I don’t know.”

Helen squeezed my waist, telling me she didn’t care.

I pulled her to me, hugging her, leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Do you want to go out there tomorrow night and take the chance of dying with me in space?”

She leaned the side of her head into my face, letting me know that she could die with me and be happy. “But I don’t want to die yet, do you?” she whispered in my ear.

I pulled back and looked down into her eyes. “No.” There was still just too much more life left to live, especially with her.

Helen hugged me tightly, her face buried in my chest.

I nodded at Gwynn. “Some things are more important than advancing technology.”

Gwynn laughed again. “It’s funny hearing you, of all people, saying that. Oh well.” Gwynn shrugged her shoulders and walked out of the room, disappointed that I wouldn’t help her with a technological experiment but happier that she had gotten Helen and me back together.

I woke up, noting that I had slept on my left side, with our oldest Cornish Rex cat asleep under the covers of the bed, leaning against my chest, and our youngest Cornish Rex cat sleeping against the crook of my back. My wife dozed quietly behind me.

I got up, used the bathroom to pee and wash my hands. My wife woke up and requested I bring her the mouthpiece that helps her sleep without snoring. I gave her the mouthpiece, fed the cats who were then begging for food, cooked myself a bowl of oatmeal, fed the fish, heated a mug of Earl Gray tea and walked out to the sunroom to write. I sat next to the copy of National Geographic that detailed the 50 years of humans traveling into space that I had read a couple of days ago. Hmm…

The fog has lifted but full sunshine is still just out of reach. Time to eat my oatmeal and figure out what to do about my dream. My dreams have come true before. Haven’t yours?

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 10:53 AM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: chapter excerpt, novel, religion, Story, success

01 January 2009

Simple, Short and to the Point

May we all enjoy the next 365 days. In other words, have a great year, regardless of the cumulative number and start day you assign to it. Mine just happened to start today, the 1st of January, and is arbitrarily numbered 2009 (human history is much older than 2009 years, of course, but since my ancestors chose to follow this numbering system so will I).

30 December 2008

When a Blog Entry Is Just a Diary Excerpt

Tuesday, 30 Dec 2008 – Rogersville, TN (limited number of crosslinks due to slow Internet access). Every culture develops ceremonies for which humans can spend time away from their assortment of usual activities, thus giving special meaning to the humans’ lives because they gain a sense of unique value while focusing on their participation or non-participation in the ceremonies. Wintertime ceremonies flourish this time of year in the Northern Hemisphere, with calendar-synched activities occurring in the warmer Southern Hemisphere. Living in the Northern Hemisphere my whole life, I’ve lost the true global perspective on how a winter ceremony that we Northerners have globalized appears to someone who’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt, swimming trunks and sandals singing “Winter Wonderland” or “Frosty the Snow Man” in the southern half of the world.

Many centuries ago, my ancestors chose to adopt the ceremonies that the Roman Empire had adapted itself to (I can see the value of a large political system changing from a multitheistic emotional support system to a monotheistic one, “proving” to the general populace that a single emperor makes more sense than competing emperors), thus participating in the rituals developed under the banner of the Christian religion, including the use of a Romanized language.

This winter, as in all the winters of my life, I received gifts on or about the 25th of December, symbolizing the rebirth of our emotional selves (our souls, if you will) in the midst of the doldrums of days with less sunlight. As I’ve grown older, I’ve given gifts to more and more people in a subconscious attempt to even out or exceed the number of gifts I’ve received, a sort of yin-yang of Christmas, if you will.

As I approached the day of Christmas, I found myself reading “Wide Sargasso Sea” by Jean Rhys, a book that loosely chronicles the life of the author who grew up in the Caribbean islands. Before I could find time to finish the book, the days of gift exchange occurred and I find myself awash in more bundled pages to focus my eyes upon:

• “Outliers: The Story of Success” by Malcolm Gladwell
• “The Drunkard’s Walk: How Randomness Rules Our Lives” by Leonard Mlodinow
• “The Third Chimpanzee: The Evolution and Future of the Human Animal” by Jared Diamond
• “The Story of Chicago May” by Nuala O’Faolain
• “Revolutionary Wealth” by Alvin & Heidi Toffler
• “Collective Intelligence: Creating a Prosperous World at Peace” edited by Mark Tovey
• “The Night Before Christmas” by Clement Clarke Moore, a popup book by Robert Sabuda

I also received the following movies:

• Layer Cake
• Memento
• A Clockwork Orange

I have one CD to hear, “Cripple Creek 2007, Better Than Ever,” as well as a hunting knife to play with, a bottle of Puerto Rican rum to drink and a crank-powered LED flashlight to shine ahead of me (I think I should create my own ceremony using the items just listed, don’t you? LOL).

With all of those wonderful gifts in my possession, what did I give away? Not much, frankly. I made necklaces for my wife and mother. Every other gift which bore my name was purchased with my wife’s money this year – such is the life of a consultant in the idle part of a working 12-month calendar.

Which brings me to the reason for this blog entry, probably my last one for the year 2008.

While I sat in the hospital last night, waiting for a medical professional to stop by the hospital room where my 91-year young mother in-law lay in bed after being admitted through the ER earlier in the day for uncharacteristic body function measurements noted by a home health care worker, I flipped through some old magazines in the patient/family lounge. I skipped over the “Mature Living” and “Field and Stream” magazines I had read on previous hospital visits and picked up a copy of the September 24, 2007, edition of “Newsweek” with Alan Greenspan on the cover. The articles on Greenspan including a general business review of Greenspan’s career by Daniel Gross, an interview (‘two-hour tutorial’) with Jon Meacham and Daniel Gross and an excerpt from Greenspan’s book, “The Age of Turbulence.”

A paragraph from the excerpt haunted me during my dreams last night, especially the highlighted phrase below:

As awesomely productive as market capitalism has proved to be, its Achilles’ heel is a growing perception that its rewards, increasingly skewed to the skilled, are not distributed justly. Market capitalism on a global scale continues to require ever-greater skills as one new technology builds on another. Given that raw human intelligence is probably no greater today than in ancient Greece, our advancement will depend on additions to the vast heritage of human knowledge accumulated over the generations. A dysfunctional U.S. elementary and secondary education system has failed to prepare our students sufficiently rapidly to prevent a shortage of skilled workers and a surfeit of lesser-skilled ones, expanding the pay gap between the two groups. Unless America’s education system can raise skill levels as quickly as technology requires, skilled workers will continue to earn greater wage increases, leading to ever more disturbing extremes of income concentration. Education reform will take years, and we need to address increasing income inequality now. Increasing taxes on the rich, a seemingly simple remedy, is likely to prove counterproductive to economic growth. But by opening our borders to large numbers of highly skilled immigrant workers, we would both enhance the skill level of the overall workforce and provide a new source of competition for higher-earning employees, thus driving down their wages. The popular acceptance of capitalist practice in the United States will likely rest on these seemingly quite doable reforms. [bold/italicized emphasis is mine, not Greenspan’s]
It is not an accident that human beings persevere and advance in the face of adversity. Adaptation is in our nature, a fact that leads me to be deeply optimistic about our future. Seers from the oracle of Delphi to today’s Wall Street futurists have sought to ride this long-term positive trend that human nature directs. The Enlightenment’s legacy of individual rights and economic freedom has unleashed billions of people to pursue the imperatives of their nature—to work toward better lives for themselves and their families. Progress is not automatic, however; it will demand future adaptations as yet unimaginable. But the frontier of hope that we all innately pursue will never close.
I continue to educate myself about current economic and research trends so that I can understand where our society is moving, giving me the insight I need to understand where my skills are best applied. Despite my continuing education, I know my level of intelligence limits my true comprehension of fields such as quantum mechanics and synthetic drug development. In other words, my ability to go from the front suite of a corporate office to the labs of a research university and integrate my knowledge of the two into an in-depth whole would not impress the deepest thinkers of the world but might fool the general person on the street. So if I, with an IQ measured many years ago at a level a standard deviation or two (but not six) above average, realize my limitations, what should I expect of the vast majority of humans living under the rest of the bell curve?

If technology complexity increases indefinitely, how do we keep unskilled workers productive?

In this season of reflection and gift giving (and cuddling up by the fire in the Northern Hemisphere, including me on the chilly December day, even if the “fire” is a set of artificial logs heated by natural gas to supplement the warm air blowing out of the vents of a home central heating/cooling pump system), I say that we skilled workers who have the ability to develop and integrate complex systems should give our unskilled workers the gift of simplifying the usability of technology systems. The gift that keeps on giving, as they say.

We stand up and protest when car manufacturers insist on putting iDrives into mass-produced automobiles. We tear up any user interface that requires more than two or three buttons to operate. We treat every system as if it was an emergency situation that can be handled with the press of a large red panic button to set into motion immediately (or stopped just as easily).

As Greenspan noted, the behemoth of the education system, like a large cruise or battle ship going at full speed, cannot be stopped and turned on a dime in a short period of time. While school experiments such as KIPP are taking place and slowly influencing the way students are taught – the bottom-up approach to building a better functioning society – skilled workers will work on building systems that anyone can use, a top-down approach that hopefully will let us meet in the middle more quickly, not only putting the current topsy-turvy economy back on its feet but make our global society more cooperative and working toward a peaceful solution to many local skirmishes that are caused by economic inequalities that can be tied to poor education and workplace training.

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 11:03 AM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: business, General, government, investment, market, religion

11 December 2008

Change in Plans

I had planned to write this blog entry about the recent revelation concerning the contagion sweeping the world in the form of happiness. Then, I thought about the news article and realized this is not news. We have been sharing happiness, joy and a positive attitude with one another for millennia. Instead of talking about spreading the ‘disease’ of happiness, I have changed my daily habits so that I’m spreading happiness almost every day. [NOTE: I’ll get to that in a few paragraphs]

In concert with the report on happiness, I was also going to discuss the prospect of investing in “green” technology during a worldwide recession, telling you where I had planned to put my money to ensure that not only does the economy get a boost but my portfolio grows in a green way, too. Then I realized that a recession, or a contracting economy (“contracting” as in diminishing in size, not as in formal building proposal), is a form of green technology in itself.

By letting the economy shrink and forcing many people to curtail spending on superfluous goods and services, we actually find ourselves making decisions about what’s important for our survival. Then, instead of buying the “next great thing,” we can see for ourselves that spending time with other people, in lieu of spending money on items that substitute for one-to-one interaction, can bring us joy and happiness.

In conclusion, I have determined that a recession causes happiness! Or at least, if we put our minds to it, we can use this economic slump to bring happiness to others via our smiling faces and personal talents such as storytelling, singing, dancing, card-playing and game-playing, instead of giving each other a gee-whiz portable music player, catch-all cell phone, all-in-one transportation device or humongogigantisaurus televising entertainment complex.

==========================
Secrets to Share Happiness — Part One

Now, to the ways we can share happiness.

I am a technology buff and believe that ingenuity in the realm of technology brings people together in a one-to-one way we hadn’t thought of 100 years ago. Who would have thought that our journals/diaries would become public announcements in the form of blogs that we would want to connect to others’? As a technology buff, I want to use the tools available to me and know that the progress of technology will continue to increase the ways people connect with each other.

At the same time, technology serves as a dilemma to those of us who recognize that the raw materials needed to support high-tech growth have to come from somewhere and usually it’s from areas outside of our immediate sight. Thus, as we enjoy the world’s largest LCD TV installed in our special-purpose HD theater room, we do not see the local strip mines and the low-paid workers who extract the precious metals needed for producing LCD panels. Nor do many of us see the island forests cleared to build factories and other manufacturing infrastructure in Malaysia.

I tell you this because I believe our happiness should not come at the cost of ignorance. When we approach our friends and colleagues in virtual connections in the hopes of spreading happiness, let us keep in mind the cost of virtual reality. That way, as you move forward, you can with clarity ask yourself whether walking down the street to visit a dying neighbor is more important than checking the list of holiday joke emails you’ve received from your worldwide network of virtual friends.

With that said, during the recent U.S. Thanksgiving Day holiday, I visited my hometown, the place where I spent my days going to study reading, writing and arithmetic with my school mates. During the holiday, a former school mate of mine told me that I should connect up with other former primary school mates through Facebook. I created a Facebook profile and all of a sudden I found myself reconnecting with people I haven’t seen since 1980. Facebook and other social networking sites are fun to use (I also have profiles on LinkedIn, Plaxo and Naymz).

Over the past few days, I have scanned dozens of photos from the period 1978-1980 and posted them on Facebook.

The happiness that people have expressed in seeing themselves and other school mates in photos from 30 years ago cannot substitute for much in my life, other than actual face-to-face contact with them. However, because the group of people I spent my school days with have dispersed across the globe, this is the only way we have to see each other, and for the advance in technology that has made this possible, I am thankful. I balance this virtual happiness time against the good times I spend with friends, neighbors and colleagues in my town.

So, see, there is a way to share happiness during this worldwide recession. You can physically visit with your neighbors, friends and long-lost relatives and you can visit them virtually. When engaged in the latter activity, keep in mind the cost to the environment, even if you have to stretch your unused altruistic muscles to do so — your future neighbors, friends and long-lost relatives will happily thank you, I’m sure.

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 11:13 AM 0 comments Links to this post

03 December 2008

Don Quixote’s not dead.

Yesterday, while ruminating about the future after eating a mesquite-smoked turkey sandwich, I remembered what I had forgotten I remembered — the subject for a future blog entry. Therefore, the future is yesterday because the blog entry is now.

I dedicate this blog entry to a friend of mine named Ali. Ali grew up in Lebanon, the son of a Christian mother and a Muslim father. He saw firsthand the violence that religious belief causes. When he moved to the United States to earn a college degree, he saw firsthand the tolerance that religious belief causes. Ali eventually got his PhD and somewhere along the way he became a U.S. citizen, giving up the riches of his Lebanese inheritance, including a Ferrari his father promised him if he returned to his birthplace (his family is part of the ancient kingdoms of the Middle East that, frankly, I know little about). How many of us know the price of freedom that someone like Ali has paid? I see it but I can only imagine the conflicting thoughts and health-wrecking emotions that such a person goes through, to give up family ties in order to live freely.

While thinking about the main subject for this blog entry, I took a walk through the woods behind our house. A cold breeze stirred up freshly-fallen maple leaves, burning my ears that were trying to hear the sounds of spring which always warm my body frozen stiff from cabin fever. Deer tracks in the mud reminded me of the overpopulation of Odocoileus virginianus in this part of the country. We humans attempt to control the deer by shooting them for sport and to a small degree, it helps. However, the deer keep multiplying. If ever there was a problem looking for a solution, then finding a way to deliver deer meat to homeless shelters and the homes of the poor fits in there somehow…perhaps we should teach the poor to hunt for themselves. What’s that saying about teaching a man to fish? Let’s see, “he’ll never go hungry”? No, that’s not it. “He’ll sit in a boat all day and get drunk”? Maybe that’s the one.

While incense burns nearby, I spend a few minutes contemplating the rotation of Earth on its axis as the Sun passes by in the low southern sky. Interesting, how the problems of the world economy, the pestilence, the poverty, the history of humanity, the dos and don’ts, the haves and have nots, and all the other human-centric issues just disappear. Prayer and meditation cure many an ill.

Yesterday afternoon, I watched the movie, “The Man of La Mancha,” starring Peter O’Toole, Sophia Loren, and James Coco. I wanted to see how the movie compared to the book I had read recently, El ingenioso hidalgo Don Quijote de la Mancha (“The Ingenious Hidalgo Don Quixote of La Mancha”). Surprisingly, the two matched up pretty well. Both had slow parts that made me wonder where the author was taking the narrative. Most importantly, the movie reminded me of today’s blog entry. But first, some lyrics from the movie:

“The Impossible Dream”

To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear with unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go

To right the unrightable wrong
To love pure and chaste from afar
To try when your arms are too weary
To reach the unreachable star

This is my quest
To follow that star
No matter how hopeless
No matter how far

To fight for the right
Without question or pause
To be willing to march into Hell
For a heavenly cause

And I know if I’ll only be true
To this glorious quest
That my heart will lie peaceful and calm
When I’m laid to my rest

And the world will be better for this
That one man, scorned and covered with scars
Still strove with his last ounce of courage
To reach the unreachable star
========================

For you see, the subject of today’s blog entry concerns the understanding (or misunderstanding) between two religions — an impossible dream, it seems at times. In the Western world, Christianity dominates as the form of ethical, moral and meditative education given to children and practiced by adults. In the Middle East and northern Africa, Islam dominates. Or rather, I should say that through tradition and relative success, families in these regions have found the two religions useful in producing offspring. I will not argue that one religion is more or less violent than the other. To turn a phrase, religions do not kill people, people kill people.

Having grown up in an English-speaking Christian society, I celebrate when those of the majority population truly accept others who may not speak English and do not profess Christianity as their emotional foundation. At the same time, I expect acceptance of my language and other behavioral skills when they are in the minority at the local population level.

At my mother in-law’s house last week, I skimmed through a stack of National Geographic magazines. I had just finished reading a local newspaper column about wrestling entitled, “WWE no doubt thankful for its money-making DVD sets,” and reminisced about the conversations that Ali and I had about the old wrestling stars. There’s nothing like a good rumble in the ring for fans of all backgrounds to enjoy time together. I would talk about watching the likes of Ric Flair while Ali reminded me that Ric was successful only because of the popularity of wrestlers like Dusty Rhodes, Andre the Giant and Ivan Koloff. Ali taught me much about Lebanese wrestlers, such as Sheik Ali, telling me that wrestling was as popular there as it is here. Who knew? Obviously not me.

Anyway, I came across the August 2008 issue of NatGeo that focused on Persia, “Ancient Iran: Inside A Nation’s Persian Soul.” There, I read an interesting paragraph:

The legacy from antiquity that has always seemed to loom large in the national psyche is this: The concepts of freedom and human rights may not have originated with the classical Greeks but in Iran, as early as the sixth century B.C. under the Achaemenid emperor Cyrus the Great, who established the first Persian Empire, which would become the largest, most powerful kingdom on Earth. Among other things, Cyrus, reputedly a brave and humble good guy, freed the enslaved Jews of Babylon in 539 B.C., sending them back to Jerusalem to rebuild their temple with money he gave them, and established what has been called the world’s first religiously and culturally tolerant empire. Ultimately it comprised more than 23 different peoples who coexisted peacefully under a central government, originally based in Pasargadae — a kingdom that at its height, under Cyrus’s successor, Darius, extended from the Mediterranean to the Indus River.

So Persia was arguably the world’s first superpower.
Cyrus the who? Because of my upbringing that emphasized the history of my northern European ancestors, I had never heard of Cyrus, yet here it appears that a leader had great vision millenia ago. Why don’t we learn more from him in the land of the current superpower, the United States?

The NatGeo article pointed to the acts of magnanimity carved into the Cyrus Cylinder, an object that should be getting more attention than the cryptex, a cylinder supposedly invented by Da Vinci that many studied during the height of popularity of “The Da Vinci Code.”

Which brings me to the main subject of this blog entry — Islamic feminism. Yes, that’s right. We spend so much time in the West worrying about Islamic terrorism that we forget about the daily lives of the majority of Muslims, who find a peaceful way to raise children, run businesses and get along with their neighbors.

In general, I do not support feminism as a force majeure because of the tendency that the word “feminism” attracts and is associated with radicals. Some say that the only way to change a society is through radicalism but I disagree. Radicalism is required only if suppression and oppression are the status quo and the general populace suffers declining health and higher death rates. I believe that feminism should be practiced (and thus demonstrated) and not shoved down the throats of those who cannot comprehend the value that women bring to a society that touts equality.

What is feminism?
Plenty of websites and blogs define feminism. You can use your favorite search engine if you want to investigate what others say about feminism. I define feminism as the attitude that women are equal to men in all walks of life, including mental and physical activities, but enjoy specific differences that enhance the relationship between the two genders.

Some activities tend toward gender bias because they concentrate on gender-specific traits but that does not mean a person of the other gender cannot participate. However, the inclusion of a member of the opposite sex in such activities requires acceptance by the group. Even with an open mind, the group may not include the other person for a variety of reasons but if the group believes in feminism then the issue of gender is not one of the reasons for excluding the other person.

Islamic feminism (or nisa’iyya in Arabic) is similar. For those who’ve read and practiced the teachings of Muhammed, Islamic feminism may seem like a nonissue. For them, the Qu’ran clearly makes a place for women. The same could be said about the Bible. But many people interpret the Qu’ran and the Bible in male-dominant terms. By the same token, many women are comfortable living in a male-dominated world. Religious tolerance allows for this way to live.

Religious tolerance also allows for Islamic feminism. If you are a Westerner, I implore you to consider the prospect of an Islamic feminist and smile with gladness. For when you accept the purpose of feminism, you accept the concept of equality. When you consider a man and woman as equals, then you can accept a Christian and Muslim as equals on this planet, too. And only when we learn to treat each other as humans without preconceived notions clouding our thoughts can we work together to build a better world.

25 November 2008

Wearing Off My Fingertips

Well, the world is not coming to an end this week but boy, I tell you what, I’m not sure about some of my stock picks. I thought Rio was a good long-term buy (and given a long shot for a robust recovery of the economy by 2012, it will be) but news today implies that Rio’s debt sinks the company like Somali pirates after finding a ship full of jungle camo parkas — with no ransom, to boot.

 

So be it. I want cheap stocks to buy and that’s what I get. Rock-bottom, in the cellar, down in the mine shaft CHEAP!

 

Anyway, I haven’t had a lot of time to search for good stock deals this month. Instead, I’ve let my fingers fly over the keyboard piling bad phrase upon tired anecdote in an effort to complete a new novel for NaNoWriMo 2008. And I did it! Since I now have no fingerprints after typing like a coffee-coddled medical transcriptionist for the past few weeks, maybe now’s the time to start of life of crime. Just kidding. In any case, mission accomplished for this month — 53,467 words and counting.

 

Time to start thinking about a delicious lasagna meal for Thanksgiving!

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 2:10 PM 0 comments Links to this post

24 November 2008

Wooo, Pig, Sooie!!

 

This was my “culture hog” weekend (you know, when you go from one art trough to another, soaking in, slopping up, and stuffing yourself on the high culture, low culture, folk culture, or popular culture). Saturday, I saw the Metropolitan Opera perform “La Damnation De Faust” by Berlioz via HD theater. Definitely a blued-hair crowd at the Regal Hollywood 18 in Huntsville but that’s okay. The music was classic Berlioz with a set similar to the multilevel jail set from the movie, “Chicago,” with acrobatics and infrared-controlled video projection a la Cirque de Soleil (during one of the intermission interviews, I found out the opera’s director, Robert Lepage, also directed the set of a Cirque de Soleil show). Glad that opera has been modernized for us young folks. LOL

The only negative about the opera was the lead female singer, Susan Graham, who looked a decade (or two) older than the character she was portraying, Marguerite. John Relyea as Mephistopheles clearly upstaged and out-acted Marcello Giordani, a decent-acting Faust with a bland face but an even better singer with a good French accent.

Sunday morning I attended a local Methodist Church in Huntsville, built in the style of wood-and-brick European cathedrals, to enjoy singing the old-time harmonious church hymns, hear a halfway decent choir and hope for a good organ solo (and a bonus! — the boring annual “time to pledge your money and services” sermon by a newly ordained minister).

Last night, I watched the swingin’ performance of the Miss Tess Trio (a smaller version of Miss Tess and the Bon Ton Parade) at the Flying Monkey Arts Center in Huntsville. Wow! They had three to six couples toe-tapping and dancing on the floor at any one time. I felt like I was back in the Jazz Age, what with the brown-baggin’ going on and moonshine jug sitting on the table nearby. The opening act, Helen Keller’s Ukulele was more interesting, as far as music style goes (imagine a mix of circus music and Tiny Tim) but not something to dance to — that music was more appropriate for a soundtrack, in my opinion — the lead singer wearing what I call grandma glasses, shoulder-length hair and a green scarf, sang with a soft voice. I drank a bottle of old-fashioned ginger ale from the Buffalo Rock company — great fizzing sensation!

Anyway, the band inspired me to sketch them in action. The band members autographed the sketch after the show and asked me to scan and email it to them because they thought it was cool (so do I, knowing I drew it in dim light from the stage!). I forwarded the sketch to the band this morning.

Helen Keller’s Ukulele inspired me to rewrite my novel and retitle it from “Passing The Time” to one of the following:

· Rational Exuberance
· A Period Not Yet Justified
· A Space Not Justified
· Capitalized and Justified
· No Photos Outside Tourist Areas
· A City Goes Silent
· A Space, A Period and A Capital

The novel is a prequel to the next one which will star the illustrious one (a/k/a Belle) and the silent one (a/k/a Maria).

 

Here’s a sample from the novel:

A few weeks later I found myself at home alone, with my wife gone on a business trip and my cats just wanting to be left alone sunning in the dining room. Bored, I drove over to Fredirique’s house so I could once again heave open the ancient garage door and face the daunting task of solving the mystery of Japanese rice burners. I knew Fredirique wasn’t home so I could work on the bike in meditative peace, sort of like Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, only I haven’t read the book so I know about as much about it as I did fixing the bike.
Sitting on the concrete floor in the suffocating heat of that day was bad enough but here I was trying to be a backyard mechanic, skillfully whacking at a stubborn bolt with a broken pair of pliers. After two hours of banging and cursing, I leaned backed, letting my neck rest on the cool vinyl of the weight bench. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep, but only momentarily.
In my half-awake state, I heard the sound of an approaching vehicle whose engine noise reminded me of an old Volvo. Didn’t Fredirique own a Volvo, I wondered. The engine stopped and a door opened. With my eyes closed, I couldn’t see the person coming but I imagined someone getting closer.
“Lee, are you all right?” a concerned voice said into my left ear. I looked up to see Fredirique leaning down over me. Caught as I was half-asleep, my mind raced through a multitude of personalities like a cat in a room full of catnip. In the same moment, panic swept through my mind, then relief when I realized I was not under attack by an invisible voice. At first, my platonic self looked at her sisterly eyes but then my caveman self took over and I glanced down at her shirt hanging open, exposing her white bra which, of course, led down to her hips shrink-wrapped in a pair of tight shorts. My eyes continued to slide down her thin white thighs until my self-conscience self took over (pretty well stereotyped by the psychiatrist-obsessed Woody Allen) and I found myself looking down at my hands stained with grease and engine oil.

 

“Uh, yeah, I just can’t seem to get the engine case open,” I managed to say out of my dried-out throat.
“Why don’t you come inside for a minute and cool off? I can turn the air conditioner on for a little while.”
“Okay,” I mumbled.
“I’ve got some juice leftover in the fridge, if you want some,” Fredirique yelled from her bedroom as she unpacked her suitcase. “There may be a beer or two in there, too.”
“No thanks,” I managed to say, sprawled out on the couch.
“Are you sure?”
I lay there in the cool silence.
“I’ll get it for you, for a price,” she said as she walked up to the couch from behind.
I leaned forward, craning my neck and cocking my eyebrows. “Like what?”
“Well, considering that I’ve let you keep your bike here for over a month and…well, you can see that the air conditioner doesn’t do that good a job.”
“It feels fine to me.”
“Lee-e-e-e,” she said in a nasally, whining voice, “I mean it. When you stop sweating like a pig on my couch, you’ll see what I mean. You won’t feel cold anymore.”
“So, uh, you want me to fix your air conditioner.”
“No, I had something else in mind,” she said in a quiet voice, while beckoning me to the bedroom hallway with her finger.
I sat up on the couch. “So what do you have to drink?” I said as I got up and walked toward the kitchen.
“Lee, come here for a minute, will you? I have something to show you.”
I stopped at the kitchen doorway. What exactly was going on here? Either I was misreading the signals or Fredirique didn’t know when to stop teasing me. I shrugged my shoulders and turned back toward the living room. “What do you want?”
“Come on into the bedroom,” her voice called out.
I stepped into the small hallway and stuck my head in her bedroom. Seeing her unmade bed with the covers piled up made me smile. Miss Architectural Digest didn’t make her bed.
“No, over here,” she said behind my back. I turned around to see Fredirique standing in the bedroom at the other end of the hallway.
I walked up behind her.
“Give me your honest opinion of what you think,” she said, putting her hands on her hips with pride.
“Of what,” I asked timidly.

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 3:02 PM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: chapter excerpt, General

20 November 2008

Fall in a Maturing Maple Forest

Mid-day sun, an orchestra conductor warming up and delighting the crowd, a diverse group of beings, including shabby (some say a bit nutty) shagbark hickory trees, cedars always dressed for the occasion, stately oaks with their well-weathered skin, and the vast majority, young, fashionable maples showing off their golden, amber, and persimmon coats worn in late fall; chickadees, thrushes, and tufted titmouse birds, like children at their parents’ feet, enjoy the 54 deg F air, restlessly flying from tree to birdfeeder and back, with tasty treats in their mouth. Red berries of a deciduous holly hang in undetected suspension, envious of the popular sunflower-and-safflower deluxe seed mix from Wild Birds Unlimited.

In this cozy atmosphere, I look down at the three tomes I recently purchased from Woodward Books, a “premium” used bookstore on 108 E. Jackson Avenue in the historic Old City area of Knoxville, TN:

Sophie’s Choice by William Styron
The Limerick, edited by G. Legman
Crashing the Party (first edition) by Ralph Nader
Before I dive into discussing those heavy volumes, I pick up a book I have read and reread, laughing at the timeliness of human folly that I remembered from Gibbon’s “The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire,” that is summarized in other books like Sun Tzu’s “The Art of War,” but seemingly satirized best in Machiavelli’s book written around 1513, “Il Principe” (better known as “The Prince“), which I hold in my hand.

While the U.S. President-elect assembles his advisory staff, perhaps he can learn from the ageless wisdom and observation of previous advisors, as in the final section of Machiavelli’s 500-year old political treatise, Chapter XXVI, “An Exhortation to Liberate Italy from the Barbarians” — [substitute “United States” for “Italy,” if you will]:

HAVING carefully considered the subject of the above discourses, and wondering within myself whether the present times were propitious to a new prince, and whether there were the elements that would give an opportunity to a wise and virtuous one to introduce a new order of things which would do honour to him and good to the people of this country, it appears to me that so many things concur to favour a new prince that I never knew a time more fit than the present.

And if, as I said, it was necessary that the people of Israel should be captive so as to make manifest the ability of Moses; that the Persians should be oppressed by the Medes so as to discover the greatness of the soul of Cyrus; and that the Athenians should be dispersed to illustrate the capabilities of Theseus: then at the present time, in order to discover the virtue of an Italian spirit, it was necessary that Italy should be reduced to the extremity she is now in, that she should be more enslaved than the Hebrews, more oppressed than the Persians, more scattered than the Athenians; without head, without order, beaten, despoiled, torn, overrun; and to have endured every kind of desolation.

Although lately some spark may have been shown by one, which made us think he was ordained by God for our redemption, nevertheless it was afterwards seen, in the height of his career, that fortune rejected him; so that Italy, left as without life, waits for him who shall yet heal her wounds and put an end to the ravaging and plundering of Lombardy, to the swindling and taxing of the kingdom and of Tuscany, and cleanse those sores that for long have festered. It is seen how she entreats God to send someone who shall deliver her from these wrongs and barbarous insolencies. It is seen also that she is ready and willing to follow a banner if only someone will raise it.

Nor is there to be seen at present one in whom she can place more hope than in your illustrious house [Historical note: refers to Giuliano de Medici. He had just been created a cardinal by Leo X. In 1523 Giuliano was elected Pope, and took the title of Clement VII.] , with its valour and fortune, favoured by God and by the Church of which it is now the chief, and which could be made the head of this redemption. This will not be difficult if you will recall to yourself the actions and lives of the men I have named. And although they were great and wonderful men, yet they were men, and each one of them had no more opportunity than the present offers, for their enterprises were neither more just nor easier than this, nor was God more their friend than He is yours.

With us there is great justice, because that war is just which is necessary, and arms are hallowed when there is no other hope but in them. Here there is the greatest willingness, and where the willingness is great the difficulties cannot be great if you will only follow those men to whom I have directed your attention. Further than this, how extraordinarily the ways of God have been manifested beyond example: the sea is divided, a cloud has led the way, the rock has poured forth water, it has rained manna, everything has contributed to your greatness; you ought to do the rest. God is not willing to do everything, and thus take away our free will and that share of glory which belongs to us.

And it is not to be wondered at if none of the above-named Italians have been able to accomplish all that is expected from your illustrious house; and if in so many revolutions in Italy, and in so many campaigns, it has always appeared as if military virtue were exhausted, this has happened because the old order of things was not good, and none of us have known how to find a new one.
And nothing honours a man more than to establish new laws and new ordinances when he himself was newly risen. Such things when they are well founded and dignified will make him revered and admired, and in Italy there are not wanting opportunities to bring such into use in every form.

Here there is great valour in the limbs whilst it fails in the head. Look attentively at the duels and the hand-to-hand combats, how superior the Italians are in strength, dexterity, and subtlety. But when it comes to armies they do not bear comparison, and this springs entirely from the insufficiency of the leaders, since those who are capable are not obedient, and each one seems to himself to know, there having never been any one so distinguished above the rest, either by valour or fortune, that others would yield to him. Hence it is that for so long a time, and during so much fighting in the past twenty years, whenever there has been an army wholly Italian, it has always given a poor account of itself; as witness Taro, Alessandria, Capua, Genoa, Vaila, Bologna, Mestre [Note: The battles of Il Taro, 1495; Alessandria, 1499; Capua, 1501; Genoa, 1507; Vaila, 1509; Bologna, 1511; Mestre, 1513].

If, therefore, your illustrious house wishes to follow those remarkable men who have redeemed their country, it is necessary before all things, as a true foundation for every enterprise, to be provided with your own forces, because there can be no more faithful, truer, or better soldiers. And although singly they are good, altogether they will be much better when they find themselves commanded by their prince, honoured by him, and maintained at his expense. Therefore it is necessary to be prepared with such arms, so that you can be defended against foreigners by Italian valour.

And although Swiss and Spanish infantry may be considered very formidable, nevertheless there is a defect in both, by reason of which a third order would not only be able to oppose them, but might be relied upon to overthrow them. For the Spaniards cannot resist cavalry, and the Switzers are afraid of infantry whenever they encounter them in close combat. Owing to this, as has been and may again be seen, the Spaniards are unable to resist French cavalry, and the Switzers are overthrown by infantry. And although a complete proof of this latter cannot be shown, nevertheless there was some evidence of it at the battle of Ravenna, when the Spanish infantry were confronted by German battalions, who follow the same tactics as the Swiss; when the Spaniards, by agility of body and with the aid of their shields, got in under the pikes of the Germans and stood out of danger, able to attack, while the Germans stood helpless, and, if the cavalry had not dashed up, all would have been over with them. It is possible, therefore, knowing the defects of both these infantries, to invent a new one, which will resist cavalry and not be afraid of infantry; this need not create a new order of arms, but a variation upon the old. And these are the kind of improvements which confer reputation and power upon a new prince.

This opportunity, therefore, ought not to be allowed to pass for letting Italy at last see her liberator appear. Nor can one express the love with which he would be received in all those provinces which have suffered so much from these foreign scourings, with what thirst for revenge, with what stubborn faith, with what devotion, with what tears. What door would be closed to him? Who would refuse obedience to him? What envy would hinder him? What Italian would refuse him homage? To all of us this barbarous dominion stinks. Let, therefore, your illustrious house take up this charge with that courage and hope with which all just enterprises are undertaken, so that under its standard our native country may be ennobled, and under its auspices may be verified that saying of Petrarch:

Virtu contro al Furore
Prendera l’arme, e fia il combatter corto:
Che l’antico valore
Negli italici cuor non e ancor morto.

Translation:
Virtue against fury shall advance the fight,
And it i’ th’ combat soon shall put to flight:
For the old Roman, valour is not dead,
Nor in th’ Italians’ breasts extinguished.
–Edward Dacre, 1640.

==========================================

While researching medical companies worthy of my investment, a friend asked me if there were solar companies that might give us a better ROI. I think she’s got me there. From a quick look at the industry, including a blog, industry news, and analysis, it appears that the price of solar and other alternative power stocks has dropped significantly lower than the general market, offering a good buy opportunity, IF AND ONLY IF the alternative energy market will recover anytime soon. I don’t see that happening, assuming history is correct. We saw the same thing back in the 1970s, when the oil embargo pushed Americans into thinking that alternative energy might save us from the influence of foreign oil. For a few years, solar, wind, geothermal, hydroelectric, wave energy, nuclear and human power gained the attention of the general public. Many people found a way to adapt their daily living to alternative energy sources but the vast majority continued to use oil and coal-based power to fuel their lives.

My father taught energy efficiency courses for Virginia Tech in the late 1970s and showed me then what I still know today — when it comes to sources of energy, the average American citizen wants something cheap, reliable, and easy-to-use (e.g., an electric car will not work for the family that likes to travel long distance; the noise and vibration of neighborhood-located wind turbines is unacceptable). I perfectly understand — I live in the woods but I’ve found a way to use solar at home (photovoltaic cells to re-energize rechargeable batteries). We use CFL bulbs in the house. We close off heat pump vents and doors to unused rooms. On the other hand, I drive a used 1995 6-cylinder BMW 325i that gets 34 MPG on the highway at 57 MPH, not a hybrid Prius that gets 50 MPG, simply because I can’t justify new car payments for what boils down to a slight decrease in monthy gas bills. With the recent plummet in oil prices and the tightening of the credit market, I doubt many Americans will adopt alternative energy on a large-scale basis unless the U.S. government heavily subsidizes or mandates it. Therefore, until I see concrete evidence that the Obama administration will add alternative energy to the budget deficit, I will continue to watch the solar market but not invest in it.

Now, returning to my crystal ball and the investigation of the medical business. Hmm…medical supplies or medical services? Health insurance companies or outpatient physical therapy clinics? Tough decisions, indeed.

Meanwhile, back to helping a team of engineers get their invention to market, all while working on my NaNoWriMo novel. Life is fun on this warm fall day! Hope yours is, too.

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 11:05 AM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: business, General, government, investment, market, novel

18 November 2008

A Match for the Ages

Some of us got to watch the match via the wonders of the Internet. For those who were there (and you know who you are), the match between Munster and the All Blacks (New Zealand), where Munster led 16-10 at the half and 16-13 until late in the game, cheering for the tired, courageous, injured and wornout players in red must have felt like the kind of fun and fable we long to tell our children about.

Although the Munster team lasted as long as they could, they lost 16-18 in a match we will tell our children about.

Thirty years after the famous 1978 match, Munster can still hold its head high:

To the brave and faithful, nothing is impossible.
Long live the 2008 Heineken Cup champions!

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 4:48 PM 0 comments Links to this post

15 November 2008

Dusting Off The Crystal Ball

A coworker named Joe once told me, “Saying I’m a millionaire is easy — getting there was even easier…and fun, too!” He bought, lived in and sold homes back during the Internet bubble at the turn of the 21st Century. When the Internet bubble burst, he gave up his “easy” job as a day trader and returned to the workforce as a computer programmer. A few years ago, I heard from a friend who’d received Joe’s resume and asked if I would hire him. I said sure, he was a good guy and seemed to know what he was talking about. I have no idea if my assessment of him was true but I was willing to back it up by stating that Joe’s air of confidence stood for something.

In these unsure economic times, unconfident people hope for a simple solution to their woes.

In 2006, I joined an international group of folks who dedicate their time during the month of November to complete a 50,000-word novel in 30 days in an event called National Novel Writing Month (or NaNoWriMo). The winners simply have to tell a story in 50,000 words or so. I’ve successfully completed two novels during NaNoWriMo 2006 and 2007 by putting fingers to keyboard and telling a straightforward story, including a satisfactory ending.

Everyone likes a good story. I guess that’s why we see and hear the concerns from citizens all over the world. Their local news media tell stories about the sluggish economy, including bankrupt companies, job redundancies, etc., that don’t have a happy or satisfactory ending right now (unless you’re a sadist or masochist).

I dug through our storage room at the house this week, looking for some old writing material that might spark a memory for a plot for this year’s participation in NaNoWriMo. Not only did I find a great storyline (an idea for intertwining story about a couple of old flames, one from high school and one from college) but I also found an old crystal ball I’d forgotten I’d acquired in 1984 from a soothsayer who had “retired” to the life of a homeless alcoholic on the streets of Knoxville.

I saw the crystal ball in his Army surplus canvas bag while he was digging for aluminum cans in the dumpster in front of my house and offered him some beers and cash for the ball. When the fortune teller sold me the crystal ball, he told me that his mother had entrusted the oracle to him on her deathbed, telling him never to use it unless he found himself in dire straits. He had never used the sphere for fear he’d see his future, something he was not interested in. Instead, he preferred to tell other people’s futures through Tarot cards.

So here I am, sitting here with the crystal ball in my lap. Last night, I bought some incense sticks to try to simulate the conditions you see when wise men and women peer into their crystal balls (okay, maybe it’s just special effects smoke machines you see in the movies but go with me here).

I set the ball on a fleece blanket and polish it to remove my oily fingerprints. As I polish it, I see an image appearing in the ball, kind of like a portable LCD TV the day after the digital TV transition February 2009, or a shaken snowglobe — white clouds spinning around, a virtual tornado. Wait, wait…I see something appearing. It’s…it’s…well, it’s a stethoscope? No, no, it’s a staff with a snake wrapped around it. Yes, that’s it. The classic medical symbol, the rod of Asclepius. I shake globe and rub it and it still displays the snake and staff.

What does that mean? Hmm…well, I don’t predict the future and certainly have no confidence that a crystal ball I traded for some fermented hops is going to tell me the future. However, I think I see what’s going on. In the midst of a shakeup in the way people have chosen to pad or protect their portfolios, one thing is clear: we want our lives and the lives of our loved ones to contain good health. What better way to ensure we’re healthy than to invest in the medical industry?

I’ll play with the crystal ball and see if there are any specific medical companies that I should buy (and maybe Joe should, too). Meanwhile, I’ll keep working on my NaNoWriMo story.

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 12:57 PM 0 comments Links to this post

10 November 2008

A Sporting Mood

While we grow up, we play with our mates. We behave like any other animal – pushing, shoving, biting, rolling around, hitting, hugging, poking…you name it, we do it.

Eventually, we capture the attention of our adult caretakers who direct us toward organized physical activities like ball tossing, block stacking and body tagging.

Those of us who display exemplary talents for throwing and chasing after balls often get promoted into organized team sports like soccer (i.e., futbol), baseball, basketball and football (with its American, Canadian and Australian versions).

The majority of us who play these organized sports do not progress to the next level of play, moving on to something else in which we excel. That is, a large population of youth may play football in secondary school but only a portion of those with superior football skills will continue playing football in primary school and even fewer will play the sport on college or semipro teams.

Therefore, the further the player progresses, the better we presume the player has become. Also, the player’s value to society increases, giving the player the option to convert the combination of talent and skill into a usable trade in the open marketplace of job opportunities, including the amateur “job” of college scholarship-funded student-athlete.

For the past 19 years, my wife and I have watched American-style football from the same seats in Neyland Stadium on the campus of the University of Tennessee-Knoxville. We have enjoyed the drama of the game as well as the increasing maturity of the players as they grow from boys to men in their three to five-year college stint. We continue to marvel at the ability of the players to take bruising hits week-in and week-out while still finding a way to attend college classes, study class material after or in-between classes and improve their ability to play football the next game through weight room training or team practices.

Most importantly, we appreciate the players who understand the team concept, putting egos and superior talent aside in the drive to win football games.

During this football season, we have observed the inability of the group of players to overcome talent shortcomings or poor individual efforts on the field in order to win each week’s game. Many theories regarding this year’s team have been touted by fans, boosters, former players, current players, former coaches, current coaches, news media and current athletic administrators. We watched as the most common consensus among this diverse group of people coalesced into the desire to get rid of the head football coach, the adult who has personal responsibility for attracting the players’ attention in primary school to come play football for him in exchange for a college education. The coach was forced by the director of the athletic department to resign last week. No matter what people thought about the man himself, they now face a future without him coaching and leading the football team. The football players responded by proclaiming they would win the rest of the games to show their respect for the coach and prove the athletic director’s decision was wrong. However, they lost their next game, 13-7, while hosting a typical “weak” homecoming team, an opponent favored to lose to the Tennessee football team by 27 points.

In business, we use group dynamics to make our company move forward toward a set of common goals. Every person in the company has a set of job duties that contribute in part to those goals. When the employees fail as a group to perform their duties in a way that makes the company successful, how long should we wait to place the blame for their failures on the company’s CEO, president, or department VP? This question follows a CEO or president every day, whether employees, stockholders and the board of directors consciously think it.

Not every adult gets to play professional sports on a team but every one of us participates in team activities, no matter what we do.

So, when you work with others, observe the team’s group dynamics and ask yourself these questions:

• Am I tuned in to the team and the individual efforts of the team’s members?
• Can I put aside my ego to assist a member of the team I do not like personally but needs my help in order to get the team to succeed?
• In the depth of misery (i.e., the team is collapsing from loss of control or intense conflict), can I use humor to pull the team back together again?

HINT: You should respond, “Yes!,” without hesitation. After all, the chances that your team is sitting on a field in front of 100,000 screaming fans are fairly slim. More than likely, you’re sitting in a room with less than 10 people where team decision-making is easy. Therefore, no matter what your team struggles with, remember the sports teams that have to make decisions in front of thousands or even millions of people — they practice team continuity on a daily basis in order to achieve their team-based goals — like the successful sports teams, no matter how great your talent, you should always put the team first and be the one to show others how to achieve the team’s goals by disregarding ego-driven or externally-initiated conflicts. Don’t wait for a leader to get fired for you to be the one to make a difference.

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 1:58 PM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: business, General, success

05 November 2008

Gesundheit!

Gesundheit! You just sneezed. If sneezing is contagious, does the simple act of saying, “Gesundheit!,” make one sneeze? There you go again – Gesundheit! – I guess it does.

We learn our behaviors through imitation and repetition. We learn our behaviors through imitation and repetition.

As the paragraph above demonstrated, we sometimes repeat a behavior without knowing why. In primary school, I discovered the works of the behaviorist, B. F. Skinner. [Before that, I read books by psychology and psychiatry “gurus” such as Freud, Adler and Jung but always felt their works about the animal mind (especially, the human mind) missed the vital aspect of animal behavior – after all, we do not respond to other persons’ thinking but to their behavior, either immediately in their presence or delayed by communications devices (notes, letters, telephones, televisions, computers, etc.). Thus, to me, the Freudian focus on what occurs at the thought level reflects more about the history of human culture and the expected behavior of specific humans in a given culture/subculture than it does the actual functioning of the whole human body, including the brain (and unfortunately, the almost universally accepted concept of a mind sitting somewhere in the area behind our eyes and between our ears).] I felt relieved that someone else agreed with me that a “mind” does not exist. Or, at least if we’re going to study humans, we should look only at their behaviors and not build elaborate schemes for second-guessing how a person’s brain (synapse-based storage and processing system) was arranging and rearranging sets of symbols in a higher-order, invisible mind.

Today, the people in the world who are tuned in to their local media outlet are responding to the news that Barack Hussein Obama will be the 44th President of the North American continent’s political organization called the United States of America. If we observe the people’s behavior, we see a range of facial expressions, vocal cord utterances and arm, torso and leg movements. We respond to their behaviors in various ways, including my typing this blog one-handed while holding a sleeping cat in the other arm.

But my responding to the outcome of the election does not concern me. Instead, my interest lies in our behavior in the days ahead. With a new U.S. Presidential administration moving into the White House in 2009, we can change our behavioral patterns of the past and establish new ones. We can stop repeating behaviors that have no purpose other than to show we still use our bodies to imitate, store, retrieve and repeat learned behaviors.

As you get a moment away from your daily set of normal routines, use this change in Presidential officeholder to look for new behaviors that will change and enhance your daily life:

· Turn off the television or step away from the computer to give an evening to greeting a neighbor you’ve never met before and learn about one of his/her unique behaviors/skills like fly fishing, flower arranging or painting; turn around and teach that behavior to someone else on your next “free” evening.

· Take an inventory of your work skills to see if there’s a skill such as file sorting, carpentry, or negotiation you could offer and teach to a volunteer / charitable organization; teach that skill to someone else and then get that person to teach it to another.

· Teach your child a behavior that he or she can use to make life better for anyone, including how to sew a button, change an automobile tire or cook a simple meal on a stove; then get your child to teach that behavior to someone else.

In other words, we can do a lot for each other when the contagious behavior we share is more than just sneezing. Hope we run into one another at a neighbor’s house or local charity one day soon. And I know you’ll recognize me when I hear you sneeze, because you know what I will say. No, it’s not “Gesundheit!” – it’s “Teach me more!”

30 October 2008

The Number One Secret to Success and Happiness

When you find yourself on a planet whose most widespread inhabitants are bacteria, what action do you take to survive? Do you try communicating with the bacteria? When you deplete your food supply, do you avoid confrontation with the majority population (in case the bacteria have large-scale defense mechanisms) and eat some other species besides the bacteria?

How did you figure out the population count and distribution patterns to begin with? Quite possibly, you anticipated the types of organisms you’d encounter and brought surveying instruments with you to measure a sample population, from which you then extrapolated total population data.

No matter how much you analyzed and prepared your approach to the planet, you know you have made decisions that will limit your capabilities.

However, you maintain one important goal — personal survival.

And so it is in business, also. When you entered a new market, you prepared a set of goals and objectives, made assumptions about the market conditions, including competitors and customers, but inevitably missed some important factor that you couldn’t see until you stepped foot in the market.

Question is, if initial results are disappointing or a negative market condition looks too daunting to overcome in a reasonable timeframe, do you just step out of the market and start over later?

The answer is no. You must pretend that you’ve crash-landed on another planet, with some tools and food for immediate life sustenance. But to ensure long-term survival, you have to study, process and cultivate the surrounding resources. Setbacks will hit you at every moment as you learn about the inert and hostile aspects of an environment not tuned to your existence. You celebrate the smallest iota of success. If you’ve arrived with a team, then every member reassures the other when solid, thought-out efforts do not lead to success (even if the effort resulted from a hunch rather than analysis), because only through experimentation can we ever achieve success.

Friends, strangers, coworkers and family have expressed their concerns to me about the current economic conditions during this pending U.S. Presidential election. They all look forward to the exit of the current President as if the change in the U.S. political administration will cure the global economic headache, no matter whether they believe McCain or Obama will win the election.

The U.S. economy indeed faces many challenges ahead, tied as it is to the rest of the world and the competition for limited resources. However, we humans share this planet with other species that, though more abundant than us by many magnitudes, have no clue about the temporary ebb-and-flow of money. Their minute-by-minute survival does not directly change from the simple uptick or downtick of the price of a stock, mutual fund or barrel of oil. In fact, their species thrive with no regard to human existence, which points us to a simple secret.

So, what’s the number one secret to success and happiness? Well, it’s an easy secret to share, one that young wise people know and old wise people have learned:

All problems are insignificant and transitory.

We’ve crash-landed on this planet together. We depend on each other to survive. The current economic conditions dominate the mass media communications networks but don’t forget these conditions, as dreadful as the news organizations play them up to be, are insignificant and transitory. We will survive. And better yet, we will thrive. If a mixed race man and a former prisoner of war can run against each other in a civil contest for U.S. President, then together, WE can accomplish anything. Let’s put our minds and bodies to the task of making this planet a better place to live, work and play.

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 10:23 AM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: business, election, General, success

21 October 2008

The Best Time to Start a New Business

When is the best time to start a new business?

Last year, a small group of engineers and other technical types saw a problem and invented a new gadget to fix the problem. They test-marketed a “proof of concept” unit, which excited the customer who used the gadget and gained interest from others who wanted to purchase the unit, even at the hand-built stage the unit was in. The inventors realized this high level of interest meant they could go to market with a set of prototypes. Instead, wanting the product to reflect their engineering expertise and professional approach to problem-solving, they hammered on the design details of this gadget for the past year and finally filed for a patent last month.

One of the engineers brought me on board about a month ago to run the business side of their venture. After examining their gadget and analyzing the gadget’s potential market, I assembled a business plan to give the inventors information they needed in order to see if they really wanted to incorporate a business, finalize the product’s design for manufacturability, work with a contract manufacturer (CM) to mass-produce a bunch of units, start selling the gadget by the dozens and build enough momentum in the marketplace to attract a buyer. At the same time, I established a budget so the inventors could see the investment dollars they needed to offset the cost of the startup, including consulting/contracting fees for accounting and engineering support, salary for a technical manager and payment to a CM for a set of preproduction units (and the first run or two of production units, depending on cash flow).

As is the case for many startups, the inventors want to maintain majority control of the company so they will benefit from their invention whenever profitability and/or buyout occur. They don’t want their invention to make someone a gazillionaire while they end up getting pushed out the door without so much as a dollar for their efforts. They have seen this happen to friends of theirs and don’t want to make the same mistake. Therefore, I set up the business plan to show their majority ownership position to potential investors.

The investors we’ve spoken with so far see the great potential for this product, which is somewhat recession-proof and opens up a completely new market. Well, as luck would have it, we started selling the business to investors during the recent downturn in the stock market. In addition, the U.S. Presidential election takes place in two weeks. Combine those two uncertainties and investors have shied away from putting money into a new company until at least after the election and perhaps until after the first of the year.

So what’s a couple of months, right? Well, with this delay, we’ve already lost one of the key members of the group, who would have worked as the technical manager to coordinate all the development activities but can’t wait until 2009 for investors to fund his salary. He left this week to work a regular, six-figure, salaried engineering job and he’s taken his expertise and the investors who counted on his participation to make the product a success.

Meanwhile, the remaining members of the team have agreed to move forward with the product, albeit at a much slower pace.

Those who take risks know they don’t fail. They just add to their list of lessons learned. Although this current business venture hasn’t yet failed, it has faced a setback and reminded me of a valuable lesson:

There’s no such thing as the best time to start a business but there sure are times when getting a business started would be much easier!

I’ll keep you posted.

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 12:53 PM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: election, finance, General, investment, market, money

09 October 2008

A Simple Thanks Will Do

Regardless of your position on the subject of religion, you understand the interconnectedness between creatures of the same species — chemically attracted to one another, genetically predisposed to reproduce like offspring and amazingly sympathetic to each other’s pains, joys and sorrows.

Therefore, if we’re programmed at birth to help one another (discounting the ones whose genetic makeup drives them to non-procreative actions such as murder and self-isolation), should we feel grateful and thus express our gratitude to those who treat us kindly? In other words, what does the concept of “common courtesy” — the give-and-take of a civil society — mean to you?

A friend of mine once said, “Be kind to everyone because you don’t know who’s having a worse day than you are.” Usually, this friend of mine lives her life in New York City as a loud, boisterous, happy person, with no care in the world other than gladly spending her husband’s money and helping old people across the street.

Unfortunately, her husband was recently diagnosed with pancreatic cancer which has spread to his liver. Medical science is full of unexpected, miraculous recoveries from devastating diseases that run counter to the normal outcome for people who’ve received radiation and chemotherapy to slow down the destructive nature of the diseases or even put the diseases into temporary remission. I don’t know what will happen to my friend’s husband but I know they will pray for miracles while the certified medical professionals follow their prescribed course of action.

About the same time as this, I found out my mother in-law has deteriorative vertebrae that will prevent her from living the active home life she was used to for the past 91 years. I took care of her for a few months last year, moving her from a hospital to a physical therapy unit at a nursing home, getting her much needed physical therapy to strengthen her leg and back muscles that eventually put her back in her house and her active life in the community. A few weeks ago, I returned to her house to get her medical attention for a kidney infection. After X-ray and CT scans of her body during an examination to determine the extent of the kidney infection and possible diverticulitis/colitis, a surgeon once again recommended she go to the nursing home for physical therapy. The physical therapists do not want to push her as hard as they did last year because they worry my mother in-law will literally break her back. Of course, she feels frustrated by the lack of progress.

This past weekend, good friends of mine suffered a heartbreaker when their son, who ran to the grocery store for his mother, seemingly lost control of his car. The emergency personnel who arrived at the scene watched the young man’s brain shut down as he went into a coma. Examination at the hospital revealed broken ribs, broken femur, crushed ankle, collapsed lungs and head/brain trauma. He remains in a coma and now has pneumonia. He will stay in the hospital for weeks, at least.

Also this past weekend, my parent’s next-door neighbor of 38 years died. His health had declined recently so he had talked with my father a couple of days before he died about setting up legal documents for his son so the transfer of property after his death would not cause any hardships. Unfortunately, his son found his father’s cold, dead body before he was able to create the paperwork he’d talked about.

Meanwhile, everyday, all over the world, people get maimed in fights, receive brutal torture, die in political skirmishes and starve to death from malnutrition. Children are born with birth defects directly attributable to negative environmental conditions (whether through the mother’s negligent behavior and/or exposure to toxic chemicals), creating hardships at birth they will carry with them the rest of their lives.

Despite all of these people’s stories, despite their tragedies and suffering, most of them maintain a positive view of life. They thank God or their lucky stars that there is hope. They ask for miracles but do not expect them. They will accept whatever happens, even if they suffer mental strain and stress in the process.

From this, I have learned not to take anything for granted. With relatively good health, I have what I need. With loving family and caring friends, I have more than what I need. I don’t ask for anything else. I do hope that people around me see the appreciation I feel for their presence in my life when I smile at them with a ridiculously big grin, say “Thank you” for no reason, or slightly nod in passing. We may not agree about our political beliefs, religious beliefs, or favorite football team, but we share this planet together. Instead of labeling others and wishing them out of existence, let’s reach out to others and see them for who they are: fellow members of our species. If you can’t think of anything to say to one another, a simple thanks will do.

19 September 2008

FWIW, AYWTP Revealed

More than one reader has asked about the organization and meanings behind the novel, “Are You With The Program?” [AYWTP]

I have procrastinated, putting off any thoughts I have held about considering answering that question. After all, the humor disappears when one has to explain a joke.

In any case, while driving from my parents’ upper east Tennessee house to the domicile of my mother in-law late Thursday evening, I played around with the idea that maybe the world hasn’t come to an end after major U.S. financial institutions collapsed like stick-and-stilt houses in Galveston, Texas, during Hurricane Ike (e.g., Lehman Brothers, Merrill Lynch and AIG, to name a few of the stalwart companies finding themselves shorted out of existence by bigger players in the international market – has NYC completely lost its financial center luster and/or has the U.S. seen history repeated in that military strength means little in protecting the virtual world (intrinsic stock value, debt, etc.)? Thank goodness the U.S. still has value as a major consumerist society.). If so, then my desire for mystery surrounding my writing will survive even if I give away some of the secrets of my last published novel. I drove past “photo enforced” speed limit zones in Mt. Carmel, and porpoised across the peaks and troughs of the road through Church Hill, with a rhythmic chant of “Three, one, two, four” rattling in my mind, keeping me awake at midnight.

Why the sequence, 3-1-2-4? Well, AYWTP has four sections but the chronology, such as it is, twists a little. The novel opens with section three of the superficial, chronological order of the story, then goes back to the first section, progresses to the second, jumps to the fourth and final section, and finally leads to the epilogue.

On the surface, AYWTP reveals the “Walter Mitty” escapist mindset of the main character, Bruce Colline. Unlike Thurber’s tale relating the fantasies of Mitty, however, Bruce’s takes place in a Jorge Luis Borges’ labyrinthine world with Swiftian-style parables right out of Gulliver’s Travels. Literally and figuratively, Bruce finds himself trapped in a labyrinth. The reader follows Bruce as he slips and slides down dead-end allies, backtracks to what seems like the main path, steps in and out of time, and finally uses his sense of smell to seek out the monetary reward of retirement at the other end of the rat race maze in which he’d wandered for years. Along the way, he encounters mini-societies, subcultures and individuals whose rules for living seem preposterous to general readers because of their absurdities but represent a distorted sense of reality that only (AND truly) makes sense to those who’ve lived it (and those who’ve lived it have told me they know exactly which scenes in AYWTP are nearly word-for-word retellings of their peculiar lives).

One easy example of the parallel to Gulliver’s Travels: while Gulliver found himself tied down by Lilliputians, Bruce found himself bound by a mechanical spider.

In an unintended “art imitates art” moment (ars imitatia artis?), I seem to have copied the style of Cervantes with the opening pages of reviews, both real and imagined, in AYWTP. I suppose all novelists owe their existence to the works of Cervantes, even if they don’t know it.

So, too, I owe a debt of gratitude to Gabriel García Márquez, whose novel, “One Hundred Years of Solitude,” told me that the ghost stories, urban legends and tall tales of my youth about folks in the southeastern United States varied little from similar fables in other parts of the world, including Ireland and Columbia.

AYWTP also satirizes business books such as “The 4-Hour Workweek.” In fact, the working title for AYWTP was “The Four-Tablet Workweek,” but I decided the working title limited the scope of the story.

More could be said. I hope that this blog entry answers the main questions my readers have posed concerning AYWTP. If not, I’ll consider expanding the explanation at some future date, maybe even in this lifetime. Otherwise, my body is tired and I feel scatterbrained at 2:00 a.m. – with no current Internet access, I’ll have to fact-check and post this blog entry sometime later today. Good night and good morning to you, my faithful readers.

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 11:59 AM 0 comments Links to this post

15 September 2008

Another writer/thinker takes his leave

I never read any of his work but heard about him through the years. Sadly, David Foster Wallace, a writer of popular “thinker’s fare,” bid farewell to the waking world by hanging it up, so to speak, committing suicide over the weekend. He joins a long list of literati who chose their own ending, including Spalding Gray and Sylvia Plath.

His reason for leaving has escaped the news so far. Any reason for suicide seems a sad one, including those for whom physical pain has overwhelmed their senses.

May his literary legacy last and he rest in peace.

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 12:38 PM 0 comments Links to this post

11 September 2008

Living By Translation

What makes you “you”? Some say that to know ourselves we must get to know people not like us, in order to see our true selves through others. Yet, as we meet new people, our personalities change ever so slightly, through either the new knowledge we’ve gained or the quirks and quips we’ve taken on from those we’ve met. Therefore, we have no one shape or personality, unless we decide to live in a subculture of homophily, a good subject rather timely for the type of propaganda (i.e., advertising) that groups put out to appeal to their kind:

 

 

• Theory of Advertising

I promised myself not to get drawn in to the rants and raves, the rhetoric, and the preposterous pontifications of those involved in the 2008 U.S. Presidential election. Yet, I can’t resist because I don’t have a vested interest in the outcome of the election, or as my father would say, I don’t have a dog in the fight.

Thus, I can research subjects, read books and discuss ideas that are incongruous, go off-topic, and genuinely clash.

Of course, we’ve all heard about the Presidential candidates — Barr, Keyes, McCain, McKinney, Nader, Obama, Paul, etc. — are they Presidential? Really? Honestly, I can’t say that any of them particularly appeal to me. However, one of them will become the U.S. President, a figurehead overseeing the world’s largest economy, the “leader of the free world,” if you will, and serve as a focus for many who want certain ideals to guide the direction the United States will take over the next four years.

In my travels, I have heard international opinions about the role the U.S. has played in the past 10 or 12 years and the role others would like the country to take. Some praise the U.S. for taking a role in rooting out terrorist groups, a role being celebrated today, 9/11, in honor of the thousands who died on 11th Sept 2001. Others blame the country for creating an environment of fear, directly feeding into the mood that terrorists want people living in peaceful countries to feel.

I attended publicly-funded schools from age 6 to 18. During that time, I encountered a variety of personality types. Some people treated classmates in a passive-aggressive manner, some acted as “school yard bullies,” some naturally gravitated to leadership roles, some sought no specific group or clique and lived independent lives and some meshed with all social groups, acting neither as leaders nor followers. Needless to say, the world culture reflects the same mix of personality types.

So the easiest way to look at the future of the U.S. is to look at the adult roles people play today with whom I attended public school. In other words, the U.S. just turned 232 years old this year, a mere child in the ways of the world. What will it act like when it grows up?

While the airwaves fill with chitchat, I have decided to investigate the possible futures this country may take by thumbing through a few books I picked up at Unclaimed Baggage recently:

• Living to Tell The Tale by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
• Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston
• The Prince by Nicolo Machiavelli
• The Last Days of Socrates by Plato
• Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut
• The Power of Mindful Learning by Ellen J. Langer
• The Great Books Reading and Discussion Program – Fourth Series, Volume One

I had put aside Don Quixote, the last book I got at Unclaimed Baggage, after getting halfway into the second book. I will finish the novel one day, I’m sure, just not today. Cervantes makes me put down pen and paper and stare at the wonders of the world with no desire to write anything.

As I delved into Living to Tell The Tale, I saw reflections of myself and better understood the makings of an imaginative writer like Marquez, who saw the world around him wrapped in mystery. His tales fit with those of Cervantes like two pieces of a Spanish jigsaw puzzle, with just a small section missing. That missing piece of the puzzle hides in the pages of Their Eyes Were Watching God. Hurston’s tale of life in Florida, once a bastion of Spanish culture, tells the story of a child of American culture raised in the shadows and heat of the Spanish Caribbean just like Marquez and probably in the same way Cervantes would have, seeing mischievous creatures rising out of the swamps and rivers like gators out of drainage ditches today, dragons of old basking in the sun and rattling human minds.

I don’t read books all day. But for the most part, I read. Sometimes I surf the ‘Net, looking at news headlines or checking my investment portfolio. I ponder the purposes of every news item — seeing the journalist, the news editor, the publisher, the headline maker (from politicians to pontiffs to pickpockets), the popup ad, the popup ad designer, the popup ad company’s owners, the popup ad product maker/owner, the Web designer, the intended audience for both news item and popup ad — and see the general storyline that my culture wants to tell.

How easily do we get steered toward entertainment, whether through general news or advertising, that we believe enhances the life we think we lead? A rhetorical question, I know.

That’s why I rarely watch television. I find very little on all the local or cable stations that helps me in my daily life. It’s as if everything on television is humming a tune to a beat I can’t hear with words in a language I can’t understand. But somehow I think that the Internet gets around this because I can choose my own channels, so to speak, even though the majority of the Web sites I visit post text in English. Shame on me. I should know better than to let my favorite form of mass communication, text, fool me into thinking I’m thinking for myself with an open mind. I may search for random phrases using general predictive search engines provided by Google or Yahoo but I should know that I’m still looking at a limited world of ideas, specifically those posted onto the World Wide Web in English. How many people out there have found the solutions to problems but I don’t have access to them because they speak a non-English language and choose not to use the Internet?

I’m living most of my life by translation, in other words. A friend of mine, Ann P., told me she much rather prefers to read poems and stories in their original language because translations lose the alliteration and true meaning of words and phrases. She likes meeting homeless people on the street because they have a world view unlike hers. I know what she means.

The next U.S. President, no matter where he or she grew up, no matter how much money he or she has, had, or will have, does not live an everyday life close to mine. The candidates seek public office, the highest one in this country, with the sole intention of saying whatever it takes to get votes. I do not. I have no convictions strong enough that I want to live the rest of my days behind the shelter of the Secret Service. However, I thank the candidates for their devotion to this task. They have helped me know what makes me “me”:

• I am a leader of men and women who can move about the world making business and personal decisions without an entourage.
• I am a writer, an observer, a satirist, a thinker.

The candidates’ public lives help me live my private one. If all of our lives aren’t a definition of the dedication to the idea of freedom, then tell me what is.

Seven years ago, 2,993 people died because of their beliefs. Some were dedicated to business, some were dedicated to military service and some were knowingly or unknowingly dedicated to martyrdom. I have learned who I am from all of them, no matter which of the 90 countries they came from. I hope and pray that the next U.S. President will learn from them, too, and work with other countries to make this world more peaceful and prosperous for everyone. The world won’t end because of one country’s president but the administrators and workers of one U.S. Presidential term can inspire the world to work together. Let’s support the next U.S. President, regardless of who he or she is, and not get trapped into believing or feeding each other empty rhetoric.

 28 August 2008

Don’t Blame It On Rio

After enjoying the feats of Olympic proportions in and around Beijing, after watching the ripple effect of a little fist fight between Russia and Georgia, and after giving my wandering eyes a moment to look over the financial futures, I decided to give my investment portfolio a vacation down in Brazil to see what’s heating up south of the equator.

A lot, it turns out. For instance, it doesn’t take a science whiz to figure out that lifting the veil on the mining and construction business reveals COMPANHIA VALE DO RIO DOCE (RIO), a mining company scratching around in the dirt at the moment, is ready to raise a little ore for those looking to diversify. Even better, Vale counterbalances my high tech and domestic acquisitions. I missed Vale’s recent stock price peak, but again I’m not always looking for a quick buck. I want to strengthen my holdings for the future. Besides, who wouldn’t enjoy a train trip to the Amazon basin and who better to supply the track then the local miner/engineer?

Some of you will tell me that the Amazon forest, a big carbon dioxide sink, continues to diminish in size thanks to the expansion plans of energy and mining companies like Vale, thus putting our families’ futures at risk due to uncertain environmental impacts. I agree that the future is uncertain, risk is inevitable and human progress means more roads, housing estates and industrial parks will sprout up in so-called pristine or virgin wilderness. I’m an optimist and believe our destiny is to completely transform the planet, including the creation of no-development zones called national parks. In the process, some species will go extinct through human actions. However, keep in mind that ultimately all species on this planet will go extinct.

So, for all the whale and spotted owl preservers out there, I commend you for showing concern for some species not essential to survival of the human species. I hope you’d pay more attention to the contribution of bacteria to the human food chain, especially ones that feed our sources of protein like fish or soybean. The planet we live on constantly changes and if we really care about ourselves, we’ll provide a living space for the generations to come by paving roads, plowing fields, digging mines and building schools up to the fence lines surrounding national parks built to protect buffer zones like forests, coral reefs, arctic tundra, open prairie and the headwaters of major rivers and creeks, which in turn create the feeding beds for bacteria.

In other words, chaining yourself to trees or crashing into whaling vessels does not solve world hunger. Far better to invest in or work for companies where you can make a direct impact on their effects. I feel completely comfortable investing in Vale knowing that their sustainability efforts mesh with my own.

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 3:10 PM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: General

18 August 2008

Windmills and windfalls

I fight, or at least if fighting’s too strong an action, struggle to get inspiration from my Muse to continue quality writing on my novel. My novel sits in an incomplete, incompetent state. Forthwith, I survey the state of the world economy, instead, and ponder placing a worthy investment in the information traders residing in the land of the Upanishads. Infosys, anyone? How ’bout an amateur like me investing in Wipro, also? After all, an increase in one’s wealth often turns the head of an inattentive Muse.

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 9:21 AM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: General

15 August 2008

A Remembrance of Things Past

After watching the movie, “Seed,” today, I thought I’d repeat a journal entry about the day my brother in-law died two years ago that led me to seek the meaning of personal freedom…

3 July 2006. The fact that I’m sitting here is a positive thing. My command of the English language, slightly better than average on the best of days, is less than that today. Although my wife’s brother was not a close friend, we still shared the desire to do well, to give our families what they needed to survive into the future. Unfortunately, my brother in-law is no longer here, no longer living, that is. He died on the 28th of June at 2:14 p.m., after what appeared to be cardiac arrest. Blood clots in his lungs that had traveled from other parts of his body prevented him from being able to pump enough oxygen-carrying blood through him. When I saw him Tuesday night, he was taking very shallow breaths. His wife, Pat, thought he was doing better on Wednesday morning, having been able to sit up. Then sometime after lunch he started coughing, couldn’t catch his breath, and then his eyes rolled back in his head. Pat screamed for a nurse. The staff came in and revived him. They rushed him from the regular hospital room to CCU. On the way, Allan squeezed Pat’s arm and told her he was okay.

Pat called Janeil at some point during this time, probably after Allan was placed in CCU. According to my cell phone log, Janeil called me at 13:37. I was just finishing up a late lunch at a Sonic drive-in. She told me that Allan had been placed in CCU, that Pat was very upset, and Janeil was on her way to the hospital. I asked if I should join her and she told she’d let me know if I needed to come.

At 14:24, Janeil called me to tell me that Allan hadn’t made it. I told her I was on my way to the hospital. She asked me to call David Hale, Mom Berry’s minister in Rogersville, to get his assistance in telling Mrs. Berry about the death of her son. I finished up a couple of tasks at work that would allow me to take the rest of the week off. I then tried calling Dr. Hale’s house and got the answering machine. On the way to the hospital, I called the Rogersville Presbyterian Church office and reached Mrs. Hale (Sarah), telling her that Allan had died and that we wanted Dr. Hale’s assistance to help. I gave Sarah my cell phone number and asked him to call me back after he’d finished a consultation with someone in his office.

I can think of a lot of little details right now, and as usual, do not feel like writing them down, knowing that I’ll forget them in the future; despite their insignificance (like driving with one hand, changing gears with the other that was holding a cell phone and hoping I didn’t miss what the caller was saying as I changed gears, especially while driving through the Governor’s Drive/Memorial Parkway underpass; telling Sarah that my cell phone battery was running out), they would contribute to my remembrance and full understanding of the day’s events. The only important thing that matters is that Allan died. All else truly pales in comparison.

At the hospital, I wasn’t sure where to find my wife — luckily, Janeil was in the lobby talking with a couple of women from Pat’s church. We went back up to the “Consultation Room” where Pat and her son (my nephew) Jonathan were. I still recall lots of WBC (Whitesburg Baptist Church) folks hanging around, all of them part of Pat’s church family, but giving myself a feeling of being crowded in. Neither Janeil nor I are used to being around a lot of people, especially strangers, when we need time to soak in the emotions of loss.

I wasn’t at the hospital when Pat, Jonathan and Janeil got the news of Allan’s death so I did not see their first reactions. So what I remember most is when my niece, Jana, came to the hospital, looked at her mother asking, “What’s the matter?” and then bursting out loud, crying, “No!,” when she found out about her father’s death. Since I’m writing this for myself, I can selfishly tell myself that I didn’t feel like I deserved to be in the room with them. They are such a loving family and I am such a cynical, sarcastic clownish guy, I realized just how little a comforting person I am. I couldn’t look any of them in the eye during that time. I was frozen in place, looking down at a piece of paper with Dr. Hale’s and Ben Cunningham’s (a Rogersville friend of the family) home phone numbers.

“Brother Dick” and “Brother Jimmy” (senior ministers at WBC) came into the room at some point to comfort them and have prayers. So did other folks, Jerry Spain, a close friend of Pat, being the one I remember the most.

The whole afternoon at the hospital was beyond surreal. In fact, I don’t even know what surreal means anymore. I’m sure that it includes the adjective “unfair”. Eventually, we went back up to the CCU room where Allan’s body still lay dead in bed. His 51-year old face was amazingly smooth, devoid of wrinkles. His jaw lay askew, off to one side. He had a several-day old beard. Just as I had noticed the day before when he was alive, he had much less hair on his head than I had seen a few months before (I am more aware of men losing hair, now that it has been shown that hair loss is attributable to heart and blood circulation problems). I thought about touching him but decided I didn’t deserve to.

Later, after Pat had signed release forms (including an organ donor form), I stood in the hallway with the nurse while the rest of the family – Janeil, Pat, Jonathan and Jana – saw Allan’s body in the room one more time. The nurse explained to me that even though Pat had signed an organ donor form, about the only thing they could take were the bones and maybe some ligaments or tendons.

I sit here writing about the day Allan died when I had hoped to be able to sit down and write about the day I spent in Munich with Ann and Jonas – a wonderful memory of walking through the streets the day of the 2006 World Cup match between Germany and Sweden. Alas, death has overshadowed that warm, summer day in Bavaria. I’ll always have dim memories of Swedish wood creatures, American coffee shops (Starbucks and San Francisco Coffee Company), Johannes berries, funny costumes, a phone conversation between Ann and my father in broken German, chasing down a couple of bicyclists in the English Garden in an attempt to return a dropped overshirt, watching surfers in the middle of the city, looking out over the city from the towers of the Frauerenkirche (sp?) by myself while waiting for Ann and Jonas (with an elderly lady telling me her memories of the city, all in German, with me only being able to say “Ja, ja”, and wishing I could say something more comforting), eating ice cream next to polizei cyclists, then cracking a joke in bad taste, seeing the look of alarm/disgust on Ann’s face, sensing something wrong and then hours later having a conversation at the end of the day in the courtyard outside a San Fran ‘Offee House where Ann laid it on the line about integrity, flirting, sex and everything else that that dirty joke seemed to embody (certainly including some of my writing, no doubt).

The rest of this week has been a blur, more so for Pat I’m sure. We spent time on Thursday and early Friday planning for the funeral, visiting Maple Hill Cemetery to pick out plots, going to the funeral home to pick out a coffin and plan the memorial service, visiting Dr. Jackson (Brother Jimmy) at WBC to plan the funeral service and have a “heart to heart” talk about the days/weeks/months ahead. Friday evening, family gathered at the Laughlin Funeral Home to receive friends and family (including Janeil and my favorite couple from Covenant Presbyterian Church, Leon and Flora Trotter; some of Janeil’s coworkers; my former employee, Donald Gaither and his wife Jenny; others who I should remember but can’t). Saturday was the funeral service at WBC and subsequent burial at the cemetery. Saturday night, Janeil and I took my parents and sister on a tour of Big Cove and then had a late snack at Nikko Restaurant – Robert and Anna were such gracious hosts to spend time with us, feeding the fish in the atrium.

Yesterday, Janeil and I sat with her mother at Pat’s house while Pat and the kids went to church. We also visited with Pat’s family. Last night, Janeil and I went to see the movie, “The Devil Wears Prada”. Today, Janeil has been resting in bed watching TV while I have been doing very little else. Watched the movie, “Before Sunset”, which triggered this writing session out in the warm sunroom with the cats sleeping in the sofa across the room from me, all of us listening to the gurgle of the waterfall outside and the music playing from a nearby wireless speaker.

After listening to the accolades that Allan received for his dedication to what he loved – God, family, work – I have pondered my life’s record and what I would be remembered for. I’m not a big participant in any part of north Alabama society so I expect low participation in my funeral, and thus, little public record to go over.

Right now, a small hawk sits in the branches of the fig tree that grows over the waterfall next to our house. The hawk was here yesterday, also. Does it sit waiting to pounce on a bird sipping water from the base of the waterfall? There was a turtle that lived in the upper part of the waterfall – I wonder if it has fallen prey to the hawk. I hope not but if it has, such is the way of life.

Oh wait, there are at least two hawks in the tree. They’re both small so it’s possible they are juveniles. I take it back. There are three. The third one is bigger – brown with a white chest, while the other two are mottled brown and white birds.

The wooded hill behind our house is slowly being divided up into housing areas for humans. We live on the northeast end, in a subdivision built in the early 1960s along the edge of a farm (basically, in unplowable land). A subdivision at the southern end of the hill was built a year ago and now roads from the subdivision are being extended into the woods. Perhaps the construction/destruction is pushing the animals this way.

So what do I want to remember of my life in the days/weeks/years ahead? I have spent the majority of my life since high school performing functions that were not my desires. In other words, my adulthood has been more compromise than personal promise. When Ann spoke to Jonas and me about integrity, she knew very little about my life. In my brother in-law (and in many of my fellow Eagle Scouts), I have seen the example of a person who led a life full of integrity. In the newspapers and TV news channels, in my worklife, and in most other places, I have seen more than my share of people who have exhibited a central guiding set of moral values or desire for integrity different than my own. What I have figured out is that we are born with an internal set of rules that changes very little. I am the same person I remember being when I was four or five years old. I remember looking at kids beside me in kindergarten and Sunday school, being able to pick out those who cared for and enhanced a personal belief system tied to the church. I have no way of knowing how much was nurture or nature. A mixture of both, to be sure. At an early age and even to this day, I fascinate myself with the ability to think thoughts incongruous with a way of life that ensures the best path for a lengthy, safe passage to the end of a long life.

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 2:19 PM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: General, government

13 August 2008

Speeding fines doubled when workers present

As some of you know, I have written many words over the past few months toward the makings of a novel that I call, “The Mind’s Aye.” Over 98 thousand words at current count. I have wandered through a few plots while building up the novel and figured out that I needed to write an outline to keep me focused on the main plots, leaving subplots to make themselves known as I write. Here ’tis:

Plots of “The Mind’s Aye” [Overall, a satire about horror / murder mysteries]:

· The novel opens with the description of a 62-year old woman, Semina, holding a poem in her dead hand.

· Two murderers, Bruce and Lee, seek victims based on the hated stereotypes they project through body language (their first victims we see are two preppy, retired yuppies idiotically playing golf in the midst of a bad thunderstorm). Later in the novel, some of their dead victims unexpectedly get revenge on Bruce and Lee.

· Two email friends, Archie and Belle, carry on an extended email conversation. One of the email friends, Archie, will be killed by the murderers.

· A blogger posts entries every so often. No connection to any other plots or subplots until near the end of the novel. The blog entries just show evidence of the blogging world.

· Ghosts appear in the novel first to habitually tell their stories to the reader and then to gather at a summer festival on the border between Russian and Mongolia (near the trans-Mongolian rail line) on the night of a new moon in order to figure out how to end their days wandering among the memories of the living. The story of the summer festival gathering of the dead is told by Anne – daughter of Belle’s husband, Don – who has an uncanny way of seeing the world in ways others cannot, e.g.:

Don’s oldest daughter, Anne, just returned from the Trans Siberian Rail “experience”. She and her Mother, (Don’s ex) were on a 6-day trip through Russia and to China when they were taken off the train in Mongolia because her Mother (who is a world traveler and has lived as an expatriate in Berlin for 18 years) failed to get a visa for 14 days (instead she got one for 4 days).

They were taken off the train! Nobody spoke the language and I would have had a nervous breakdown; Anne is very smart and somehow managed to get them out of there, sooner than later, in a few days, and on the way to China.

Anne lives by Murphy’s Law (if anything can go wrong it will go wrong). She took Don to see an opera in NYC, the opening act a guy dropped dead, had a heart attack and fell off a ladder (opera canceled to say the least). At La Scala in Italy, the lead singer lost his voice so a man in the audience volunteered to sing (under the stage) and the lead singer mouthed the performance. There is always something with her…

· Vague references are made to characters from my novels, “Helen of Kosciusko,” “Milk Chocolate,” “Sticks to Lying,” and “Are You With The Program?” The characters, after their vague re-introductions, interact with characters in this novel, including the living and the dead. Turns out that Bruce and Lee come from the other novels.

· The author is both a living and dead character in the novel (revealed why during the course of the novel). The author tells the full story of the crazy woman attack mentioned in the epilogue of “Are You With The Program?” The crazy woman’s husband is one of the two murderers (Lee), a former Army sniper/scout [based on a real person] who married the crazy woman [a cross between two real people] when they were both in high school; he received several years of special training but flipped out after he was deployed overseas to kill alleged enemy combatants (we, along with Lee, find out the “enemy combatants” were low-level civic leaders opposed to expansion of U.S. business interests in their parts of the world); his mother in-law is named Semina. Lee kills Semina because she keeps blaming him for ruining her daughter’s life years after her divorce from Lee. After escaping from Bruce and stalking the author for weeks, Lee kills the author in a fit of jealousy, seeing that the author still has strong feelings for both Semina and her daughter (i.e., his ex-wife).

· After the author dies, he becomes acquainted with Belle’s email friend, Archie. Both of them know the plots of this novel and meet up with the dead people at the summer festival, including some of the people that Bruce and Lee killed, as well as a few recently dead famous people (Aldous Huxley, Michael Jordan’s father, Alexandr Solzhenitsyn, …), who aren’t ready to be forgotten but attend the festival out of curiosity. Most of the dead find release from the world of the living during the summer festival (using tricks from the book, “Consciousness Explained”*). Turns out some of the American dead, because they never learned how to connect with their past (their ancestors from Europe and Asia), with no real sense of history or geography, have to return to the United States in the fall and attend an American-style football game at a secondary school in a suburban community called Colonial Heights. As a reward, the winners get to have their memories taken away from the living so those dead ones can live in forgotten peace. The losers will continue on as fond, almost heroic, memories to the living – fathers, mothers, football players, cheerleaders, etc. – roles the dead played but did not believe in when they were alive. A young woman, Ellen, who passes by the football field on the cool night of the full moon will stop and sit in the metal bleachers to record the ghosts’ football game as a fictional short story she’s writing, not realizing that she’s telling an actual story.

· The two murderers, Bruce and Lee, reconnect with each other at the end of the ghosts’ football game. They had separately been tracking Ellen and each planned to individually kill her because she is a niece of the author. They greet and agree to kill Ellen together. Some of the dead see the pending attack of the murderers on Ellen. Through the force of their will, through the energy they possess as memories recorded in Ellen’s Livescribe Pulse pen, they trip the two murderers and cause them to kill each other instead of Ellen, thus becoming entries in a policeman’s logbook and a reporter’s notebook, then a lead story in the local newspaper, a wire story for “News of the Weird” and spreading out to international blogs commenting about the strange, mysterious story of two people accidentally killing each other in the middle of the night instead of their intended victim. Bruce and Lee end up wandering the memories of the living for decades as they go from blog entries to ghost story anthologies to storylines for multiplayer games to 3D characters in an immersive mental illness reenactment training suit/mind implant for police psychiatrists. Although they had acted the part of killers during their lives, they had unfulfilled dreams that now haunt them every time their killer stories are relived. Bruce wanted to be a famous author who traveled on speaking circuits and met a lot of interesting people. Lee wanted to spend his days mountain biking around the world and working for the preservation of wild spaces where bikers and hikers could see untamed plants and animals in their native environments.

· As the author wraps up the novel, posthumously, so to speak, he meets Semina at a party for the winners of the ghosts’ football game. Even though they’re dead and have no emotional capabilities (just the desire for new experiences), they decide they don’t mind being held to this planet by memories of the living because they led the lives they wanted to live – she because she talked the talk and walked the walk of the life of a loving Christian woman (having no enemies because she loved and embraced all races, genders, and religious practitioners), and he because he fulfilled all his dreams, not the dreams and wishes of others – and thus will wander the world of the living with gladness as long as the living want to keep memories of them alive. After all, isn’t that the true meaning of reaching heaven or nirvana? Being remembered for what we did for ourselves, and by extension for others, not for what we didn’t do, could have done or should have done.
===================================================
* It’s an interesting book. I like the fact that the book sets the stage for the understanding that the classic “stream of consciousness” does not exist. A brain is constantly sorting through inputs from parts of the body and sending signals back to various body parts (muscles, glands, organs, etc.) to be ready to respond to anticipated external stimuli. Consciousness is our way of thinking that the back-and-forth signal-sending is one deliberate act after another, an ordered pattern, when in fact the brain often goes through multiple, simultaneous arbitrary decisions and automatic responses, tossing aside a lot of meaningless and/or important body part responses before our “consciousness” becomes aware of it. Thus the so-called “Eureka!” moment, the joining together of seemingly incoherent patterns into one meaningful one all of a sudden. If a ballerina has to coordinate many muscle movements at once in order to perform an effortless “pas de deux” with someone else, then a thought is similar, the coordination of many brain synapse firings to perform an effortless calculation and subsequent conclusion. Therefore, “consciousness” or “thinking” is only a concept for the practice and exercise of our brain muscles (i.e., synapse firings). When you let go of the concept and tell yourself that you have neither consciousness nor unconsciousness nor subconsciousness, then you open yourself up to a whole other level of brain usage. You can give your brain the opportunity to solve many problems at once, multitasking, as they say in today’s jargon. The dead people in the novel fully understand this because they no longer have body parts. They only exist as synapse firings (stored and recalled memories) in people’s brains.

Posted by TreeTrunkRick at 12:59 PM 1 comments Links to this post

Labels: General, government

09 August 2008

A Trail of Two Cities

With a large portion of the world’s population focused on the Olympic events in the political entity called China, I have remembered a bit of research I performed, comparing two companies named SAIC and their respective headquarters, one near San Diego, California, USA, (a little jewel called La Jolla) and one in Shanghai [上海市], China.

When one looks to invest in companies, what is the interest? Personal? Economic? Strategic? When I examined the two SAICs, Science Applications International Corporation and Shanghai Automotive Industry Corporation, I wanted to see what these Pacific Coast bodies did to promote a stronger, more prosperous, conscientious society.

Stock price history…well, you can get that just about anywhere. In any case, if you look, you’ll see the two companies have quite a different stock history over the past two years. The one in America has maintained a rather steady price, giving one the impression this is a company that can survive a recession well but won’t create instant millionaires in times of economic booms — very easily a company I’d consider should these recessionary times carry on. The one based near the Yangtze River Delta has demonstrated that good economic times mean a good ride on a Chinese automotive manufacturer — now that the fun two-year ride has coasted to the bottom of a hill, one can wonder, “Should I jump back on and follow the trail back to the thrill hill of higher stock prices as the economy kicks into gear in the near future?”

Can you predict the future? I shy away from predictions, myself. Instead, I close my eyes (putting on imaginary blinders, if you will), hold out my two hands, with a record of the recent past in one hand (going back only to the late 1950s because the major world wars and their causes/aftermath are irregular, misleading economic indicators in my assessment) and a semi-scientific projection of the next 50 years in the other hand. If the two feel balanced, then I can comfortably agree with the saying, “Those who study history know that the price of eggs in China does have something to do with it.” [Whatever “it” is is up to interpretation, as any student of American presidential testimony about two-letter words can attest.]

Therefore, my reenactment of blind justice in determining the fate of my investment in stocks can only tell me what the future price of stocks will hold. In other words, if I was a bear, I’d sell some worthless stock, buy SAI and hold it for a year or so to shelter myself from the turbulent market of the coming months. If I was bullish, I’d buy 600104.SS and hold it for two years, when the economy will have boomed a bit again.

But I have my wits about me. I have the future of my extended family to consider. These companies, although both involved in the design and manufacture of goods and services, have more going on than just bolts, screws and sheet metal.

On a personal note, last year I interviewed for a job with Microsoft to run their Microsoft Home Server test lab in Shanghai (thank you, thank you — okay, that’s enough applause; oh, that was the toilet flushing, my dear, not applause? Sorry, my mistake). As I made my way through the various interviews, violence in China was rising. Bad snow storms were blocking millions of Chinese from taking a holiday and hostilities toward foreigners rose up in Shanghai. I had worked with many expats who spent half the year working in Shanghai and they agreed that Shanghai’s status as one of the world’s largest cities, if not the largest, did mean that crowded conditions forced one to spend time in the parts of the city where you worked. But hey, don’t most of us spend the majority of our waking hours near our workplace? My Shanghai worker friends also noted that hostility could be an issue, if you made too big of a deal about your foreigner status. Then again, have you ever attended a rugby or football game wearing the opponent’s jersey? As a character in Monty Python and the Holy Grail noted, “Now we see the violence inherent in the system.” Mob mentality has not changed — you can get the same reading of large groups of people in Gustave Le Bon’s 1896 treatise, “The Crowd.” Also, many years ago I interviewed for a job with the U.S.-based SAIC and have visited its headquarters. I tell you all this so you understand my interest in comparing the two SAICs.

Bottom line: what can I tell you to help you decide which stock is worth making your life better in the long run? Look at the smog in Beijing during the Olympian broadcasts for the next couple of weeks. Shanghai Automotive, a member of the Fortune Global 500, helped create that smog putting a lot of cars and trucks on the road while giving gainful employment to bright, enthusiastic workers. Meanwhile, Science Applications, a Fortune 500 company, serves the interest of a lot of government agencies while giving gainful employment to bright, enthusiastic workers. Which do you think is better (or worse)? There is no right answer. Admittedly, it’s a tough decision. As some wikipedia author stated, this is an antilogy. Now you can see why I prefer to make my decisions in the dark. My nieces and nephews will have to decide if the world is a better place as they divide up my stacks of money amongst themselves. I’m guessing they won’t really care where the money came from, even if I leave these crumbs of blog entries that mark the trail. But for those of you who I bump into on this trail, you may like to know where I found the bags of gold slung over the back of my mule. Good luck prospecting!

 

[20 June 2008] The irony in searching the Internet for frugal living / conserver tips.  Supporting an infrastructure of energy-consuming devices in order to investigate how to live a life “off the grid,” or at least at a reduced use off the grid.  But where else to look?  The library – nope, books printed on dead trees.  How about myself?  Do I have the knowledge and skills in my head to seek and live in a low-impact environment?  Can I grow my own food?  Have low enough overhead to live off my retirement fund?

Like the guys in “Of Mice and Men,” I dream of settling down into my own place, with no interruptions.  Could I survive there, e.g., in a home in Red Boiling Springs?

06 August 2008 – Carbon Copies

In understanding the underlying causes for my belief in a concept called “freedom,” I have re-read the books of my youth that adults had taught me would help me know the definition of freedom in literary terms, including “Brave New World,” “1984,” and “Don Quixote.” While reading these books, my thought patterns resembled many of those who had read the books before me. So, instead of individuality, I experienced sameness. No one forced me to read these books at this time although assuredly many people read the books when I did this past week. So I simultaneously held thoughts at the same time as other people. Yet, I felt I reached a personal, singular understanding of the world around me, about the consequence of mass media writing history on the fly (giving out labels to groups of people, both the written about and the written for), about the effects of those labels on my thinking, and about the amount of time I have to spend to separate fact from entertainment after being exposed to “news.” Reinventing the wheel in my mind like many others while at the same time mentally seeing myself in a snowstorm but not caring that every one of us snowflakes is different than other snowflakes cause our effect is generally the same. In other words, what I think of as freedom. Free to feel unique when at any moment I am not. Accepting the unreality of reality. Knowing that when I speak of my freedom to casually trade on the stock market, some people somewhere are reluctantly working 12- to 15-hour days, giving up personal dreams of their own while they build their company’s value, which helps make the stock price go up for free carbon copies like me.

04 August 2008 – A Nobel Effort

How driven are you to make your voice be heard? How about biting your tongue, figuratively speaking, while the threat of death hangs over everyone’s head for making harmless, satirical comments about your country’s leaders? Such a life few of us could live. Yet, thanks to his perseverance, Alexandr Solzhenitsyn, who died yesterday, kept writing in secret until he felt the time was right to go public with his oceanic output, driven on like waves on a rocky shore.

When I was a teenager growing up in the suburban foothills of east Tennessee, I read “The Gulag Archipelago,” and felt I’d never know the opposite of freedom in the way Russians and others under centralized, totalitarian, collectivist, communist or similar type governmental authority experienced. When all belongs to all, what belongs to the individual?

That’s when I understood who I was to be — free to think and act for myself, free to place a value on my mind, free to learn about ideas and practices not taught in my hometown, free to climb the social and corporate ladder if I chose, and free to love others with no fear.

I wonder if General Electric, as an individual corporate body, follows a true free trade path of its own. It seems to. I’ll make sure my investment portfolio grabs up some GE stock as it continues to rise to new heights after shucking off the likes of light bulbs.

31 July 2008 – Water Rights

While scientists and laypeople debate the decline of fresh water stored in ice, including such places as Greenland, North America, the Himalayas, and the Arctic, those of us who depend on freshwater sources not tied to melting ice face real concerns for how long enough fresh water will remain available to everyone at reasonable prices.

Almost anywhere you travel on this planet, you will find local populations arguing over water rights. Some argue for the right to pleasurably use fresh water, including motorboating, water skiing and swimming. A few stand firm for the right to use waterways to transport goods, control flooding and provide hydroelectric power. Many argue for the right to water non-food sources such as suburban lawns and golf courses. Others argue for the right to irrigate farms planted with water-hungry crops. All of us agree that we need fresh water to drink, prepare meals and cleanse our bodies.

Do those who live in a freshwater basin with currently adequate or excess capacity have the right to prevent access by those whose freshwater basin cannot support its human population? Simplistically speaking, the answer is no – as generalists, humans have migrated to sources of better water and food supplies and can continue to do so. Realistically, we often compromise on the issue in order to have water available to our specialized human society.

With enough fuel and refining supplies, we can turn polluted and/or salt water into potable water for human consumption. We can even divert gray water to keep lawns, landscaping and golf courses looking green.

Fuel and refining supplies. That’s the issue, isn’t it? The cost of fresh water. The price we’re willing to pay for water rights.

Necessity is the mother of invention – Plato.

Just as relatively inexpensive fuel has not forced a major change in the way humans power most machines, the low cost of fresh water has not forced a major change in the way we use water. Of course, on a local scale, humans have always found innovative ways to transport and use water, including irrigation, the artesian well, and canal rotating boatlift.

Futurists have warned that the human population will reach an unsupportable number. Apocalyptic writers and speakers have predicted doom for millennia. More recently, the popular press has brought up a new arbitrary date for human destruction – the so-called Mayan End Date – that will occur in December of 2012. When that date passes, we will find some other calendar-based countdown to prove that humanity as we know it will change dramatically (Anyone wanna pull out a copy of Nostradamus’ writing and reinterpret his stuff…again? How about another go at Revelations? Maybe Confucius left us some undiscovered pearls of wisdom about the specific future deterioration of society?).

When I was a kid, I would go with my parents to visit friends of theirs. While they chatted about adult topics I was just beginning to understand, I would wander around the house and look at the photos, paintings and knick knacks hung on walls, or skim through titles of books on hard-to-reach shelves. Curiosity drove me to seek that which I did not know or did not yet understand. One of the most common items I saw was a ceramic plate with some pastoral scene and the following poem:

God grant me the serenity

to accept the things I cannot change;

courage to change the things I can;

and wisdom to know the difference.

When we let our eyes and ears rest on general news – such as those broadcast at 5, 6, 9, 10, or 11 p.m. on local television stations, hourly on local radio stations, or every minute on 24-hour national/international news stations/websites; newspapers; weekly/monthly magazines; or even personality-based talk shows on television, radio and the Internet – as we’re wont to do at times from habit or boredom, let us remember that the news we see is rarely the news we need. If we see a talking head enunciate, “The End of the World as we know it? Details at 11,” let’s remember that that teaser line was written to entice the viewer to sit through commercial advertisements while waiting for the detailed, emotionally-tinged news report.

In practice, let’s not fall for the emotional trap. As a work colleague pointed out to me several years ago, rumors are meant to get your goat and are useless – stick to the facts. Ignore propaganda, even when it’s forwarded to you as a must-read email from friends and family.

In other words, almost everything that goes on around you is something you cannot change. Accept it. Sure, feel free to question why something cannot be changed at this moment. You may trigger an idea that you can pass on to someone who can make change. But don’t waste your time getting emotionally charged up on an issue upon which you have no influence.

If you have to get emotional, thrive in the realm of change. Get thrills out of facilitating those in your circle of influence.

As the human population grows, we’ll continue to get bombarded with theories and predictions of pending disasters. Don’t listen to these naysayers. Instead, think about what you, your family, your friends, your work colleagues need to think positively, to move forward, to give us and the generations to come a world we can live in.

You need fresh water. Therefore, figure out where your water comes from. Determine which water basin supplies your municipality’s drinking water treatment plant (you may discover that desalination is involved). Ask where your wastewater sewage treatment plant discharges its effluent – is it upstream of the intake for fresh water? See if you can put your gray water to useful purposes. Find out for yourself if your freshwater basin has sufficient capacity to meet the growing population in your area. See if other regions have made claims on your freshwater supplies or vice versa. If any of your discoveries make you uncomfortable about the future of fresh water in your area, get proactively involved. If nothing else, tell someone active in your community to act on your behalf to protect your water.

You don’t have to carry the burden of negative stereotypes such as “tree hugger” to care about your water. As a living being on this planet, you have the personal right to seek fresh water. Don’t give up that right.

28 July 2008 – The Cradle of Civilization

Anyone remember the Fertile Crescent, the area of the world where the seeds were literally harvested and planted that sprouted into civilization as we know it? As the death toll rises in the Middle East, as politicians wave their arms and shake their heads about conditions in the Persian Gulf region, let’s harken back to the early days of Homo sapiens and the trek from the jungles and savannas of the African continent into Eurasia.

How easily we forget the history of our forebears, who discovered the richness and diversity of golden fields of grain, the need to coordinate with one another to collect and store the grain, the desire to figure out new ways to put the grain to use and the simple training techniques applied to their descendants. In this age of “getting back to nature” during a large cutback in available bank financing and the subsequent recession-like ripple effect in the world economy, let us remember those who came before us and worked the land in order to secure a future for themselves and their offspring. Let us ignore our differences for a moment, pointing all mirrors away from our sight and put a microscope up to our eyes to zoom in on the overwhelming sameness of our DNA. Why all the fuss about color and body shape? Why all the focus on “genetic disposition”?

Americans say they value freedom, with some putting bumper stickers on their vehicles, proclaiming, “Freedom isn’t free!” They condone the use of constraint and violence to protect freedom for the general populace and yet, when I look at many Americans yelling “Freedom!,” I see people wanting others to conform to their way of life. Is that freedom? Is that what our ancestors wanted when they crossed the deserts of northern Africa? Is that what they wanted when they started gathering grains? To some degree, yes, they did. They expected their children to follow their example in order to preserve the family “fortune.”

But without innovation, where would humans be when weather patterns forced them to move to other lands, or when soil productivity diminished over many years, giving little back in return for the seeds spread out at the beginning of the growing season? Innovation means change. Innovation means being different than your neighbor, your parents, your siblings, your spouse and children.

Regardless of your position on the subject of evolution, you do know that plants and animals can be made to produce offspring vastly improved in disease resistance and nutrient production. Either through selective reproduction or genetic modification (or both). This happens in the wild, on the farm or in the laboratory. Accidentally and on purpose. We can make corn/maize into just about anything these days. Parents can choose the types of kids they want.

Innovation. Choice. In other words, everything that “freedom” means, including responsibility for the consequences of our free actions.

I expect people to look at my middle-aged, distinguished body and expect answers from me because I look authoritative. I give them the true meaning of “freedom” back to them when I laugh about having to be serious, when I crack a joke at an inappropriate time, tell a humorous story about an uncomfortable subject or in general show them that looks do not dictate how you should act. The masks we wear through genetic determination do not tell us how to live.

When we look back at the forgotten ancestors of ours who wandered all over the planet with no wheels or wings, we can remember that many of them did not know what a border crossing was, or a passport, or a religion affiliation card. They only sought more fertile land. They followed herds of edible animals. They often stayed one step away from danger — one fruitless season, one hurricane/typhoon, one wildfire, one ferocious beast, and unfortunately, one opportunistic fellow human preying on another of its kind.

Today, I live in a city that thrives on the production of military goods and services. I see the direct result of one country’s desire to maintain an image that the rest of the world is out to get us, thus giving us the right to pour money into molds of missiles, satellites, helicopters, etc., even when we know that some of those objects will end up on the other side of the battlefield one day, giving us reasons to produce more and better weapons. Such is the way of warfare. I expect such ways to continue forever in human activities. There just seems to be an innate fear in us that we direct toward humans who look different than us or have something we’ve been taught by our ancestors to want or despise, and thus must fight for or against. We build elaborate advertising campaigns and training programs to encourage overly physically aggressive members of society to participate in warlike activities, including organized sports and government armies (what else can you do with them?). We see members of these organizations come out of the finely-tuned training with a strict sense of right and wrong in the field of play but a fuzzy sense of what to do in other parts of society. All longterm training leads the student to such a life, not just in testosterone-driven areas. As I observed many years ago, can a concert violinist and a racecar driver ever see eye-to-eye about their importance in their chosen fields of study? They should, because each is devoted to reaching perfection:

“They’re all dedicated to their art/craft, and in the end, focusing on one thing and doing it well is the ultimate satisfaction.”
As we look back at the dawn of civilization, can we find a key to unlock the secret to a better way of living today? Can we say that any previous cultures had put that secret to use in their time? Can we only cry “Freedom!” and still not know what it means, ten, fifteen or even fifty thousand years after we understood that the planet was for us, not against us (or at least, benignly indifferent to our existence)? The secret lies within every one of us, if we take the time to notice. Our ancestors knew the answer and we’re here because of their putting the secret to practical use.

What is the secret that was given to us in our cradle of civilization?

Come on, you know what it is — you see it every time a mother lets her child waddle across a room unaided, or a father lets his child surf the Web unattended:

Teaching our children to be willing to adapt so that they can think for themselves when they need or want to innovate. At the same time, we must practice the willingness to adapt ourselves.
The world will go on without us. Let us give our children the freedom to be themselves so they can decide how to handle all the changes the world will throw at them. Don’t force them to be like us. Give civilization the chance to grow. As society matures into something with which we’re not familiar, let us find a way to adapt to the changes.

Innovation. Change. Freedom. Choice. This, the brash adolescent still stomping around the cradle of civilization in a temper tantrum, shouting “Freedom!” while carrying the banner of a democratic republic, is what it’s all about. It’s painful to watch but that child will learn to innovate — just give the child a little room to grow.

26 July 2008 – If ever someone earned an award…

Congratulations to Soos Weber, our local ecologist / nature enthusiast on receiving the DAR Conservation Medal!

I met Soos through her husband at the time, Chuck Weber. Chuck and I helped set up and coordinate the Huntsville Christmas Tree Recycling Program back in 1990. Soos and Chuck always seemed to put their private lives aside for the sake of taking care of the environment. I lost contact with Chuck years ago (probably a good reason that the Christmas Tree Recycling Program no longer exists; that, and the fact many people use artificial trees, making Christmas tree recycling too expensive on a large-scale basis, meaning a lot of trees uselessly get put in the city dump every year).

My wife and I continue to see Soos, especially since along with Soos we’re life members of the Flint River Conservation Association (FRCA, pronounced frik’-uh, for short) and supporters of the Alabama Public Television program, “Discovering Alabama,” and its one-hour segment, program #63, on the Flint River:

“63. Flint River. Across the nation today, numerous rivers and streams are being encroached upon by sprawling growth and development. Such is the case with a beautiful mountain-fed stream in north Alabama. The Flint has historically been surrounded by hardwood forests and abundant wildlife. Today, the accelerating growth in Madison county and surrounding areas is rapidly robbing the Flint of its special natural qualities. In this show, host Doug Phillips floats the Flint River from near its mountainous headwaters to its juncture with the Tennessee River. Along the way, interviews with various experts and local residents help to highlight the impressive history of the Flint and the pressing changes that threaten the river today.”
We also support the Hays Nature Preserve and the Goldsmith-Schiffman Wildlife Sanctuary through the Friends of the Preserve and Sanctuary program.

Once again, way to go Soos! Your energy and dedication put the rest of us to shame but we’ll try to keep up, all the same.

Summer Storm

Thickening clouds. Darkening skies. Ominous foreboding.

This isn’t Hollywood. Instead, the atmospheric disturbance we call a thunderstorm passed over my domicile earlier today as I finished up, “The Unbearable Lightness of Being.” Oomph of compressed air hitting the house. R-r-r-rattle of the window frames in ode to Newton’s Third Law of Motion, “Lex III: Actioni contrariam semper et æqualem esse reactionem: sive corporum duorum actiones in se mutuo semper esse æquales et in partes contrarias dirigi. All forces occur in pairs, and these two forces are equal in magnitude and opposite in direction.”

Tears flowing down my face at the reading of a fictional dying dog, named Karenin after a character in “Anna Karenina,” when I haven’t had a dog in my life since 1980. Seeing paragraphs that reminded me of “Atlas Shrugged” and the leaders of a capitalist society going on strike to take the jobs of day laborers:

After the three of them had had a good laugh, the editor told the story of how his paper had been banned, what the artist who designed the poster was doing, and what had become of other Czech painters, philosophers, and writers. After the [1968] Russian invasion they had been relieved of their positions and become window washers, parking attendants, night watchmen, boilermen in public buildings, or at best – and usually with pull – taxi drivers.

What drives people to such extremes, banishing intellectuals to work with their hands instead of their minds when some of the intellectuals would gladly trade their intricately complex minds running thoughts like the turbulent water over Victoria Falls for the enjoyment of a laborer’s life, with a job so automatic one could think with the lazy, cool waters of a spring-fed creek again? Why coerce when you can coax?

Why do we – why do I – create blogs like this one to expose our – my – minds? Do we wish to stir the hot and cold zones of others’ thought processes to create a tempest, a sudden summer storm? Do we seek to quench our vanity’s searching thirst, instead? Or are we covertly coaxed into revealing our minds in ways no external form of punishment would reveal? Are we closer to the idea of the character Tereza?:

Gazing at the remains of Old Town Hall, Tereza was suddenly reminded of her mother: that perverse need one has to expose one’s ruins, one’s ugliness, to parade one’s misery, to uncover the stump of one’s amputated arm and force the whole world to look at it. Everything had begun reminding her of her mother lately. Her mother’s world, which she had fled ten years before, seemed to be coming back to her, surrounding her on all sides. That was why she told Tomas that morning about how her mother had read her secret diary at the dinner table to an accompaniment of guffaws. When a private talk over a bottle of wine is broadcast on the radio, what can it mean but that the world is turning into a concentration camp?

Almost from childhood, Tereza had used the term to express how she felt about life with her family. A concentration camp is a world in which people live crammed together constantly, night and day. Brutality and violence are merely secondary (and not in the least indispensable) characteristics. A concentration camp is the complete obliteration of privacy. Prochazka, who was not allowed to chat with a friend over a bottle of wine in the shelter of privacy, lived (unknown to him – a fatal error on his part!) in a concentration camp. Tereza lived in the concentration camp when she lived with her mother. Almost from childhood, she knew that a concentration camp was nothing exceptional or startling but something very basic, a given into which we are born and from which we can escape only with the greatest of efforts.

And so it is we find ourselves accompanied in our lives by pervasive, intrusive, invasive, persuasive forms of media. Gentling coaxing us forward to the light, promising us much and delivering little. The light at the end of the tunnel turning into the barrel of a camera pointed back at us and recording all of our movements. Oh sure, you just want to post some private pictures on a social networking site for your friends and then don’t get a job because what your friends thought was acceptable is not considered acceptable by a prospective employer. Or, someone just wants to quietly share his thoughts “off camera” about a Presidential candidate, using words he had told others not to use in public (but anything goes in private, right?) only to find he’s been nailed to a tree like some crazy fool trying to skip over the River Styx on a monorail tour of Hades, described in the tourism office as a “fun and exciting trip through the layers of Dante’s Inferno.” Did he forget to read the fine print: “fees and tips not included”?

In “Democracy on Trial,” Jean Carolke Elshtain points out a similar issue:

The Czech novelist Milan Kundera tells a chilling tale. In a 1984 interview with Philip Roth, Kundera notes a “magic border” between “intimate life and public life…that can’t be crossed with impunity.” For any “man who was the same in both public and intimate life would be a monster. He would be without spontaneity in his private life and without responsibility in his public life. For example, privately to you I can say of a friend who’d done something stupid, that he’s an idiot, that his ears ought to be cut off, that he should be hung upside down and a mouse stuffed in his mouth. But if the same statement were broadcast over the radio spoken in a serious tone – and we all prefer to make such jokes in a serious tone – it would be indefensible.”

Can a man, who claims his public legacy by association with a great civil rights leader who himself claimed a legacy through his belief in the principle of civil disobedience laid down by the likes of Gandhi, survive a gaff spoken privately in a public place like some bad stage play about a person overheard in public when a PA microphone was not turned off during a burst of offensive ranting offstage? Not when that man’s legacy includes too much baggage stuffed with dirty laundry that others want to see, feel and talk about. Not when attention on him deflects attention from what a normal, sane, rational person would see as important political issues. Not when inimical sharks have been circling around him for years ready to rip into his carcass.

I hold no claim on reality or normality. I wake up each day and feel the aches and pains of a poor night’s sleep, not expecting anyone to have recorded my dreams, not expecting anyone to know my early morning wishes and would be watching and waiting to see which wishes of mine remained unfulfilled at day’s end. I can separate my reality and fantasy any way I wish because I am a relatively obscure writer. I have no duty to write a certain way for a paying public. I can spend days without writing a word, never worrying once about the lack of words to put food in my mouth. In other words, I value freedom. I value who I am, not who I am to others. I do not seek fame because I’ve seen the price one pays for having a public face.

Some want to be the fierce storm passing through people’s lives, drawing attention to the strength of wind, rain and lightning that one can throw down like Zeus. Some want to be the protectors, providing shelter during the storm. Some want to be the ones who go on missions to help restore the lives of others after the devastating storm has passed. I want to continue to live out my childhood dream of a mountain hermit, digging ditches for a living, asking nothing of others but a few goods and services I can’t produce in my cabin in the woods. I’ll leave you with my last hoorah for Rand’s opus, “Atlas Shrugged,” some of the twelve passages I’ve marked for future re-reading:

“So you think that money is the root of evil?…Have you ever asked what is the root of money? Money is a tool of exchange, which can’t exist unless there are goods produced and men able to produce them. Money is the material shape of the principle that men who wish to deal with one another must deal by trade and give value for value. Money is not the tool of the moochers, who claim your product by tears, or of the looters, who take it from you by force. Money is made possible only by the men who produce. Is this what you consider evil?

“When you accept money in payment for your effort, you do so only on the conviction that you will exchange it for the product of the effort of others. It is not the moochers or the looters who give value to money. Not an ocean of tears nor all the guns in the world can transform those pieces of paper in your wallet into the bread you will need to survive tomorrow. Those pieces of paper, which should have been gold, are a token of honor – your claim upon the energy of the men who produce. Your wallet is your statement of hope that somewhere in the world around you there are men who will not default on that moral principle which is the root of money. Is this what you consider evil?”

“Did you want to see [your work] used by whining rotters who never rouse themselves in any effort, who do not possess the ability of a filing clerk, but demand the income of a company president, who drift from failure to failure and expect you to pay the bills, who hold their wishing as an equivalent of your work and their need as a higher claim to reward than your effort, who demand that you serve them, who demand that it be the aim of your life to serve them, who demand that your strength be the voiceless, rightless, unpaid, unrewarded slave of their impotence, who proclaim that you are born to serfdom by reason of your genius, while they are born to rule by the grace of incompetence, that yours is only to give, but theirs only to take, that yours is to produce, but theirs to consume, that you are not to be paid, neither in manner nor in spirit, neither by wealth nor by recognition nor by respect nor by gratitude – so that they would ride on your rail and sneer at you and curse you, since they owe you nothing, not even the effort of taking off their hats which you paid for? Would this be what you wanted? Would you feel proud of it?”

“Who is the public? What does it hold as its good? There was a time when men believed that ‘the good’ was a concept to be defined by a code of moral values and that no man had the right to seek his good through the violation of the rights of another. If it is now believed that my fellow men may sacrifice me in any manner they please for the sake of whatever they deem to be their own good, if they believe that they may seize my property simply because they need it – well, so does any burglar. There is only one difference: the burglar does not ask me to sanction his act.”

“Market? I now work for use, not for profit – my use, not the looters’ profit. Only those who add to my life, not those who devour it, are my market. Only those who produce, not those who consume, can ever be anybody’s market. I deal with life-givers, not with the cannibals. … Here, we trade achievements, not failures – values, not needs. We’re free of one another, yet we all grow together. … What greater wealth is there than to own your life and to spend it on growing? Every living thing must grow. It can’t stand still. It must grow or perish.”

25 July 2008 – Telling It Like It Is

For that one reader out there (you know who you are) who wondered what I meant when I said that, “green is always gold, if you know where to look,” I didn’t mean “green” as in environmentally-friendly, although I won’t deny there’s money to be made in that field. No, I was vaguely referring to the banking industry and the “greenbacks” (some old-fashioned idea about US printed money only being green — not true anymore, of course, but still largely greenish in color), including one of my favorite stocks, FHN. If you tracked FHN recently, you saw you could have nearly doubled your money in two weeks. Even I hesitated and only captured a 27% increase in my investment over a few days’ timespan. I’ll hold on to a good bit more of FHN for a while — part of the longterm strategy I mentioned previously.

A friend of mine does well trading green on the foreign exchange market. Of course, you’ve got to have a good chunk of change to take advantage of small movements in the exchange rate but my friend feels it’s one of the safest markets to make money. I need another magnitude growth of my wealth before I’ll throw cash into that ring. Maybe next year???

24 July 2008 – A Disturbing Vision

“I had a vision last night.”

“You mean a dream?”

“No, I was wide awake. I saw myself as one of those imaginary semi-immortal beings that live in the deepest caves of the Earth…”

“You mean, like those bacteria they’ve discovered in mines a long time ago and are finally talking about in the news?”

“Exactly that. But what I realized was that my DNA recorded the surging growth of humankind. In other words, me and my kin live all over the planet and we’ve adapted to living with humans.”

“So how is that a vision?”

“Well, you see, I realized that the mutation of my DNA showed the decline of human existence, too. Because of the lack of historical records in human hands, they have not seen how their species has taken over the Earth more than once, destroying large swaths of habitable space, wiping out all sorts of species of plants, animals and even simple bacteria like me, if it helped the humans to expand.”

“So?”

“So, why do I, as a human standing here now, not the bacterium I saw as myself wandering between cracks in rocks last night, care about ‘saving’ the environment, if we’re just going to destroy it, anyway?”

“Because we’re supposed to care.”

“That’s right. We’re ‘supposed‘ to care. But as I saw in my vision, the Earth survives and flourishes without humans, or rather, with the unintended help of humans, creating room for whole lines of species to develop and mutate.”

“‘Nothing is new under the sun,’ n’est pas?”

“Mais oui! But of course. I know that. So why am I saddled with the feeling that I should care about humans’ cyclical destruction of the environment around them?”

“Training. Propaganda. Brain-washing. Good intentions. Guilt complex. Et cetera.”

“No doubt. So what you’re saying is that I’m supposed to care but I shouldn’t?”

“I didn’t say that. I’m only pointing out what you’re feeling.”

“And I’m not supposed to feel. I’m supposed to know what is right.”

“Das ist richtig.”

“Danke.”

“De nada.”

“So if I really want that Ferrari, I should jump back into a high-salary mode to get it?”

“But do you really want that Ferrari or is that more brainwashing that drives your desire, your feelings?”

“Duh. Again, you’re right. No more feelings, no more desires. Do what is right.”

“You’re getting good at this.”

“Thanks. So, all feelings aside, just me and this blank garage wall in front of us, no desires whatsoever. Think ‘right.'”

“And don’t make yourself believe anything. Go forth into the world with your capabilities held high.”

“‘I am not a bacterium. I have more value to give my fellow humans than environmental history embedded in mutated DNA.’ Ommm…”

“Did I tell you to meditate?”

“No, but sometimes I can clear my head by making my tinnitus sound like meditation if I say some nonsense syllable like, ‘om.'”

“Okay, I just wanted to make sure you weren’t mentally picturing a Buddha, cross or some other ‘higher’ being to throw your self upon.”

“Not at all.”

“What are you thinking?”

“That I have many capabilities worth trading on the open market.”

“Very good. Anything else?”

“Yeah. I’m hungry.”

“Me, too. Let’s get a bite to eat. What do you want?”

“Well, I was thinking about a tofu burger and a salad made from locally-grown produce.”

“Because you’re environmentally aware again? I thought we said no more…”

“No, because that restaurant that just opened down the street is having a half-price sale and I’ve only got a few bucks in my pocket.”

“Very well. No other reason?”

“Nope. Let’s go.”

“You wanna drive?”

“No.”

“Because you’re still environmentally concerned a little bit?”

“No, because I’m out of gas and I really need the exercise.”

“Good point. I’ll race you there!”

23 July 2008 – Spirals

When we say something feels right, what do we mean? After burning my eyes on the word-covered pages of “Atlas Shrugged,” finishing the epic love poem about Capitalism around 12:30 a.m. this morning, I understand much of the hype surrounding Ayn Rand. She put into words what many hold true who produce goods and services through their minds and bodies. But she would never say something feels right. Either it is right or it is wrong.

In the same way, I meet people or even just glance at strangers and know immediately whether they’re right or wrong in their actions toward me. The only time I admit I’m wrong about what I know occurs when I look at someone who appears to look straight at me, and as I’m quickly determining that person’s existence in relation to mine and come to a conclusion, I then realize that person was looking through me — out into space, so to speak — or at a person directly behind me.

How many people have we looked at, put into our mental circle of friends without hesitation, and then seen them walk away, forever out of our lives? Let’s grab a cliché here and ask, “How many leaves lie on the forest floor?” While mobile phone adverts want us to pay for an electronic circle of friends, we spend our lives spinning through spirals of friends, known and unknown. Spirals that lock and unlock like strings of DNA, the touch of two spirals sparking new connections and friendships that will exist in the briefest of moments, a smile between two strangers passing by each other in an airport terminal, an embrace with a person offering free hugs on a busy street corner, a kiss on the cheek by a doting aunt, holding hands while conducting business in Saudi Arabia, sleeping huddled together in a tent with fellow hikers in the wilds of Alaska, introducing your lover to your ex who has become your best friend…

During my most recent lunchtime habit, I will turn on the television and tune in a movie I hadn’t seen, for the time it takes to eat my food and let it get digested. Today’s entertaining celluloid presentation is called in English, “Ginger and Cinnamon,” or, “Dillo con parole mie,” in the original Italian title. The script writer, Stefania Montorsi, also played the main character, Stefania, a 30-year old aunt who takes her 15-year old niece to a Greek island for vacation. I don’t know anything about Stefania the person but I have met people like Stefania the movie character. In fact, while I watched the movie, I remembered a former girlfriend named Sarah, a woman born 13 years earlier than me, who regaled me with her views on philosophy while enjoying the poems I’d written to perfectly imperfect Greek goddesses like her. We met by chance in a computer class a lifetime ago. Through her, I met my next girlfriend, Frances, who also happened to be Sarah’s best friend at the time, and I also made a new sports buddy — you know, a guy who’ll join you in whatever convenient sport you can find to let loose and enjoy some relaxing physical competition — Sarah’s soon-to-be ex-husband, Mike. All while staying friends with Sarah. Live and let live. Share and share alike. Of course, Mike didn’t know I was involved with Sarah while she was divorcing him and Sarah didn’t know I was involved with Frances after Sarah and I had decided to become friends. I never lied. I just didn’t volunteer the information until after I was asked. I leave my life to chance at times — I was willing to let my new relationships get discovered before I disclosed them. After Mike asked me if I had “been with” Sarah, he then told me, as he was sinking a shot in a game of HORSE, he would have killed me had he known that Sarah and I had “locked lips,” as he said, while he was still married to her. Sarah didn’t know what to say about my relationship with Frances. She never thought of Frances, me and her as the “three of us” anymore, although she agreed we all practiced the same form of philosophy. She laughed that she had introduced Frances to me and not the other way around. She inspired me to write the story, “Thus Spoke Sarah Through Straw,” my Nietzschean tribute to her, based on a poem I had written her about Friedrich Nietzsche’s philosophy in, “Thus Spoke Zarathustra.”

I basked in the glow of the memory of Sarah as the movie ended, and walked out of the living room to the master bedroom to eliminate today’s waste as well as the undigested remnants of fried pieces of chicken soaked in habanero sauce from yesterday’s afternoon meal at Beauregard’s with my wife. [Call it crude but all I can say about yesterday’s endorphin rush is that it’ll get you coming and going, if you know what I mean!] I grabbed a book to read in the bathroom since I’d just finished Matheson’s short story collection, “I Am Legend,” yesterday (I should review that book one day but I’ll say my favorite story is…actually, no, I won’t say my favorite, although “Funeral” was downright hilarious). One of the books I’d bought at Unclaimed Baggage ended up on the bottom of my “To Read” stash and I had forgotten about it. As I glanced at the books, I reached to the bottom and pulled out “The Unbearable Lightness of Being,” and started reading about Nietzsche. Which spiral connected Sarah to that novel? Who knows and who cares? I don’t have to feel anything to know it’s right. Rand would be proud — she completely understood the spirals that connect our lives and inspire us to create something new and useful — now, if I could just produce something tradable in the process. ;^)

How about this? How long will “green” technology remain a popular investment if the price of oil and gold drop quickly? What would make oil and gold drop quickly? An election of the head of a major political entity? Strange movements by legislative bodies to protect mortgage houses for their foreign friends. Perhaps. Or perhaps not. In the lag of time between now and such an occurrence, can the Halliburtons of the world, no matter how much dark contempt they hoist on their shoulders, bring a little sunshine into one’s financial holdings? After all, the fun-to-love stocks like Apple just don’t seem reliable enough to hold their own on a short-term basis. Don’t ask me, I’m not a betting man. I don’t gamble. I invest for the long-term. I don’t buy stocks because they feel good. I buy them because they’re right. In other words, I want a planet my great-grandnieces and nephews can live on, no matter what spirals they find themselves enjoying. Green is always gold, if you know where to look.

20 July 2008 – One year of retirement

Happy Anniversary to me! As of today, 20th July, I have wallowed in the warm mud of retirement like a happy pig for one full year. A year ago, I reached the plateau of middle age and stopped to enjoy the view without asking for permission from myself. I stole the time from active members of society to whom I could have contributed my skillz without any desire to repay. I look back on that time and remember a phrase from many years ago:

“people deserve to live their lives without fear of people like me, a leech”

[from chapter 12 of the novella, “Passing the Time”]

Ah, a leech, indeed, a person who writes because:

I will always be attracted to someone like you. At the same time I will be repelled by your inadequacies, your humanness. I sit down to write, though, and I only think of you, you who is a reflection of me, a human, yet never completely like me because you are human. How can I ask you to be perfect?

If you stood in front of me right now, I would consume you like a can of soft drink, sucked dry and discarded. You would only provide temporary relief from my thirst and then I would want another. I consume you now, burning my thoughts of you to fuel the writing machine within my head.

[ibid]
I don’t create. I deconstruct. Am I just a second-hander in the eyes of a Randian?:

Men were taught to regard second-handers—tyrants, emperors, dictators—as exponents of egoism. By this fraud they were made to destroy the ego, themselves and others. The purpose of the fraud was to destroy the creators. Or to harness them. Which is a synonym.

From the beginning of history, the two antagonists have stood face to face: the creator and the second-hander. When the first creator invented the wheel, the first second-hander responded. He invented altruism.

The creator—denied, opposed, persecuted, exploited—went on, moved forward and carried all humanity along on his energy. The second-hander contributed nothing to the process except the impediments. The contest has another name: the individual against the collective.

[from: http://www.aynrandlexicon.com/lexicon/secondhanders.html, accessed 20 July 2008]
Of course the question tells the answer:

Isn’t that the root of every despicable action? Not selfishness, but precisely the absence of a self. Look at them. The man who cheats and lies, but preserves a respectable front. He knows himself to be dishonest, but others think he’s honest and he derives his self-respect from that, second-hand. The man who takes credit for an achievement which is not his own. He knows himself to be mediocre, but he’s great in the eyes of others. The frustrated wretch who professes love for the inferior and clings to those less endowed, in order to establish his own superiority by comparison . . . . They’re second-handers . . . .

They have no concern for facts, ideas, work. They’re concerned only with people. They don’t ask: “Is this true?” They ask: “Is this what others think is true?” Not to judge, but to repeat. Not to do, but to give the impression of doing. Not creation, but show. Not ability, but friendship. Not merit, but pull. What would happen to the world without those who do, think, work, produce? Those are the egoists. You don’t think through another’s brain and you don’t work through another’s hands. When you suspend your faculty of independent judgment, you suspend consciousness. To stop consciousness is to stop life. Second-handers have no sense of reality. Their reality is not within them, but somewhere in that space which divides one human body from another. Not an entity, but a relation—anchored to nothing. That’s the emptiness I couldn’t understand in people. That’s what stopped me whenever I faced a committee. Men without an ego. Opinion without a rational process. Motion without brakes or motor. Power without responsibility. The second-hander acts, but the source of his actions is scattered in every other living person. It’s everywhere and
nowhere and you can’t reason with him. He’s not open to reason.

[ibid]
Meanwhile, the U.S. economy flounders like a fish flapping about in a dried-up lake, reminders of the warnings of the consequences of global warming and accumulating too much debt. So be it. The days of U.S.’s post-WWII saber-rattling have been tempered by the overseas’ ownership of our mortgaged weapons. Hmm…if I was China, would I let the U.S. know how much of the U.S. debt I’d loaned to countries like Iran for “safekeeping?” Makes for a good novel storyline, at least.

In the meantime, I recall the line a friend of mine gave me. He placed a finger on my shoulder and said, “A great leader can touch you like this and Poof! you’re gone. That is the only definition of power.” Power, of course, means knowing when and where to use that magic finger.

I carefully weigh my options and smile, knowing that as a writer (never an artist), I have a similar magic finger. Use it wisely, I tell myself, and end this writing session.

16 July 2008 – Feeling Rather Randy

Sipping spiked tea – black tea, mango green tea, “limon” vodka and gin – while unfocused thoughts go by. Just finished watching, “Journey to the Center of the Earth 3D,” starring Brendan Fraser – great movie for kids, or even for adults who fondly remember creative adventures in their backyards and back alleyways. Jules Verne’s tales, written in the mid to late 1800s, held a spot on my mental bookshelf as a young boy in the 1960s, 100 years after Verne originally spun his yarn, Journey to the Center of the Earth.

Now, I sit here in the master bedroom, laptop computer propped on top of a wooden bed desk, Bose QC2 headset shutting out the sounds in the house, letting the tea churn in my stomach as I contemplate what to say.

I finished reading, “The Fountainhead,” a couple of days ago. Very good to read the mindset of the author, Ayn Rand. I liked the idea of people skipping over the socially correct things to say and jumping straight to the point. The author implied that only movers and shakers behaved in this manner but I’ve observed this behavior in many levels of society. Labels pop in to mind such as “straight shooter,” “crass,” “rude,” and “socially unacceptable.” How about telling it like it is, huh?

Here in 2008, Rand’s influence on everyday social life has faded somewhat, with most of her cohorts long gone or out of active participation (e.g., Alan Greenspan). Does “The Fountainhead” hold anything for today’s reader? I suppose so, even if the Soviet-style collectivism that silently served as the political enemy of independence in the novel no longer threatens the political entity of the United States of America; even if freedom, white picket fences and apple pie no longer serve as primary American desires; even if privacy takes second stage to security. Rand’s literature can still stir the soul and help people formulate questions about the definition of reality.

For instance, what defines a marriage partner? Do we seek compatibility, as matchmaking television adverts tell us? What do we really want? In “The Fountainhead,” a strikingly beautiful woman born relatively high in society, with seemingly no particular personal opinion except independence for independence’ sake, Dominique, marries a star of architecture and the popular press, with seemingly no particular personal opinion except popularity for popularity’s sake, Peter. When Peter realizes that Dominique’s personality appeared to die when they married, he confronts her about it – “it’s like death. You’re not real.” He goes on to say, “You’re not here. You’ve never been here. If you’d tell me that the curtains in this room are ghastly and if you’d rip them off and put up some you like – something of you would be real, here, in this room. … You’re not alive. Where’s your I?”

Dominique asks, “Where’s yours?” and then points out what many people discover in their marriage, sometimes immediately, sometimes decades later:

“Shall I make it clearer? You’ve never wanted me to be real. You never wanted anyone to be. But you didn’t want to show it. You wanted an act to help your act – a beautiful, complicated act, all twists, trimmings and words. All words. You didn’t like what I said about [a colleague]. You liked it when I said the same thing under cover of virtuous sentiments. You didn’t want me to believe. You only wanted me to convince you that I believed. My real soul, Peter? It’s real only when it’s independent – you’ve discovered that, haven’t you? It’s real only when it chooses curtain and desserts – you’re right about that – curtains, desserts and religions, Peter, and the shapes of buildings. But you’ve never wanted that. You wanted a mirror. People want nothing but mirrors around them. To reflect them while they’re reflecting too. You know, like the senseless infinity you get from two mirrors facing each other across a narrow passage. Usually in the more vulgar kind of hotels. Reflections of reflections and echoes of echoes. No beginning and no end. No center and no purpose. I gave you what you wanted. I became what you are, what your friends are, what most of humanity is so busy being – only with the trimmings. I didn’t go around spouting book reviews to hide my emptiness of judgment – I said I had no judgment. I didn’t borrow designs to hide my creative impotence – I created nothing. I didn’t say that equality is a noble conception and unity the chief goal of mankind – I just agreed with everybody. You call it death, Peter? That kind of death – I’ve imposed it on you and on everyone around us. But you – you haven’t done that. People are comfortable with you, they like you, they enjoy your presence. You’ve spared them the blank death. Because you’ve imposed it – on yourself.”

And that, dear reader, sums up what most of us become, holders of no personal opinions of our own but instead of those given to us by so-called experts because we have no incentive to think otherwise. Independent thinking and/or independent action rarely gives us a good life. After all, we live not on a deserted island but on a planet covered with many dense pockets of people, a total of nearly seven billion people. Most of us aim to please our fellow humans, using our cultural breeding. We spent the majority of our youth learning the culture of our forebears. Why trash it? Even if we realize the many faults of our teachers, we absorb the lessons they give us because we have no discernible alternative. Sure, we can run away from home, move to another city, another state, another country. But we still end up on the same planet somewhere, always close to other humans.

Therefore, let us learn from our mates. Let us read books that we like or that other people tell us we’ll like. Let us discover the thought processes of others so that we can continue to grow our network of friends, our circle of influence. Let us observe what others have observed. Let us look at our neighbors with new eyes given to us by writers. Let us beware the innocuous ones who pretend to care for the wretched or the poor but they themselves drive an expensive car or wear expensive clothes, like the character Ellsworth in “The Fountainhead,” who preached equality but lived in relative wealth, who saw a way to rule the world through deception:

“It’s only a matter of discovering the lever. If you learn how to rule one single man’s soul, you can get the rest of mankind. It’s the soul, Peter, the soul. Not whips or swords or fire or guns. That’s why the Caesars, the Attilas, the Napoleons were fools and did not last. We will. The soul, Peter, is that which can’t be ruled. It must be broken. Drive a wedge in, get your fingers on it – and the man is yours. You won’t need a whip – he’ll bring it to you and ask to be whipped. Set him in reverse – and his own mechanism will do your work for you. Use him against himself. Want to know how it’s done? See if I ever lied to you. See if you haven’t heard all this for years, but didn’t want to hear, and the fault is yours, not mine. There are many ways. Here’s one. Make man feel small. Make him feel guilty. Kill his aspiration and his integrity. That’s difficult. The worst among you gropes for an ideal in his own twisted way. Kill integrity by internal corruption. Use it against itself. Direct it toward a goal destructive of all integrity. Preach selflessness. Tell man that he must live for others. Tell men that altruism is the ideal. Not a single one of them has ever achieved it and not a single one ever will. His every living instinct screams against it. But don’t you see what you accomplish? Man realizes that he’s incapable of what he’s accepted as the noblest virtue – and it gives him a sense of guilt, of sin, of his own basic unworthiness. Since the supreme ideal is beyond his grasp, he gives up eventually all ideals, all aspiration, all sense of his personal value. He feels himself obliged to preach what he can’t practice. But one can’t be good halfway or honest approximately. To preserve one’s integrity is a hard battle. Why preserve that which one knows to be corrupt already? His soul gives up its self-respect. You’ve got him. He’ll obey. He’ll be glad to obey – because he can’t trust himself, he feels uncertain, he feels unclean. That’s one way. Here’s another. Kill man’s sense of values. Kill his capacity to recognize greatness or to achieve it. Great men can’t be ruled. We don’t want any great men. Don’t deny the conception of greatness. Destroy it from within. The great is the rare, the difficult, the exceptional. Set up standards of achievement open to all, to the least, to the most inept – and you stop the impetus to effort in all men, great or small. You stop all incentive to improvement, to excellence, to perfection. Laugh at [your better competitor] and hold [your lesser self] as a great architect. You’ve destroyed architecture. Hold up [a popular mediocre writer] and you’ve destroyed literature. Hail [a bad playwright] and you’ve destroyed the theater. Glorify [a bad reporter] and you’ve destroyed the press. Don’t set out to raze all shrines – you’ll frighten men. Enshrine mediocrity – and the shrines are razed. Then there’s another way. Kill the laughter. Laughter is an instrument of human joy. Learn to use it as a weapon of destruction. Turn it into a sneer. It’s simple. Tell them to laugh at everything. Tell them that a sense of humor is an unlimited virtue. Don’t let anything remain sacred in a man’s soul – and his soul won’t be sacred to him. Kill reverence and you’ve killed the hero in man. One doesn’t reverence with a giggle. He’ll obey and he’ll set no limits to his obedience – anything goes – nothing is too serious. Here’s another way. This is most important. Don’t allow men to be happy. Happiness is self-contained and self-sufficient. Happy men have no time and no use for you. Happy men are free men. So kill their joy in living. Take away from them whatever is dear or important to them. Never let them have what they want. Make them feel that the mere fact of a personal desire is evil. Bring them to a state where saying ‘I want’ is no longer a natural right, but a shameful admission. Altruism is of great help in this. Unhappy men will come to you. They’ll need you. They’ll come for consolation, for support, for escape. Nature allows no vacuum. Empty man’s soul – and the space is yours to fill. I don’t see why you should look so shocked, Peter. This is the oldest one of all. Look back at history. Look at any great system of ethics, from the Orient up. Didn’t they preach the sacrifice of personal joy? Under all the complications of verbiage, haven’t they all had a single leitmotif: sacrifice, renunciation, self-denial? Haven’t you been able to catch their theme song – ‘Give up, give up, give up, give up’? Look at the moral atmosphere of today. Everything enjoyable, from cigarettes to sex to ambition to the profit motive, is considered depraved or sinful. Just prove that a thing makes men happy – and you’ve damned it. That’s how far we’ve come. We’ve tied happiness to guilt. And we’ve got mankind by the throat. Throw your first-born into a sacrificial furnace – lie on a bed of nails – go into the desert to mortify the flesh – don’t dance – don’t go to the movies on Sunday – don’t try to get rich – don’t smoke – don’t drink. It’s all the same line. The great line. Fools think that taboos of this nature are just nonsense. Something left over, old-fashioned. But there’s always a purpose in nonsense. Don’t bother to examine a folly – ask yourself only what it accomplishes. Every system of ethics that preached sacrifice grew into a world power and ruled millions of men. Of course, you must dress it up. You must tell people that they’ll achieve a superior kind of happiness by giving up everything that makes them happy. You don’t have to be too clear about it. Use big vague words. ‘Universal Harmony’ – ‘Eternal Spirit’ – ‘Divine Purpose’ – ‘Nirvana’ – ‘Paradise’ – ‘Racial Supremacy’ – ‘The Dictatorship of the Proletariat.’ Internal corruption, Peter. That’s the oldest one of all. The farce has been going on for centuries and men still fall for it. Yet the test should be so simple: just listen to any prophet and if you hear him speak of sacrifice – run. Run faster than from a plague. It stands to reason that where there’s sacrifice, there’s someone collecting sacrificial offerings. Where there’s service, there’s someone being served. The man who speaks to you of sacrifice, speaks of slaves and masters. And intends to be the master. But if ever you hear a man telling you that you must be happy, that it’s your natural right, that your first duty is to yourself – that will be the man who’s not after your soul. That will be the man who has nothing to gain from you. But let him come and you’ll scream your empty heads off, howling that he’s a selfish monster. So the racket is safe for many, many centuries. But here you might have noticed something. I said, ‘It stands to reason.’ Do you see? Men have a weapon against you. Reason. So you must be very sure to take it away from them. Cut the props from under it. But be careful. Don’t deny outright. Never deny anything outright, you give your hand away. Don’t say reason is evil – though some have gone that far and with astonishing success. Just say that reason is limited. That there’s something about it. What? You don’t have to be too clear about it either. The field’s inexhaustible. ‘Instinct’ – ‘Feeling’ – ‘Revelation’ – ‘Divine Intuition’ – ‘Dialectic Materialism.’ If you get caught at some crucial point and somebody tells you that your doctrine doesn’t make sense – you’re ready for him. You tell him that there’s something above sense. That here he must not try to think, he must feel. He must believe. Suspend reason and you play it deuces wild. Anything goes in any manner you wish whenever you need it. You’ve got him. Can you rule a thinking man? We don’t need any thinking men.”

We all know the Internet has opened the borders of many countries in ways that tanks and bombs cannot. We see political entities like China adapting to this new change, where their citizenry have access to ideas and concepts not normally taught by the mass media in their part of the world, and thus the leaders use good press agents and PR people to turn the leaders from dictators into feel-good topics in the popular press. We also see the “free press” exploit access to these countries (a/k/a new sales territories) in order to help foreign industry promote capitalism and boost product sales. We see the instant-access, online world spreading to include the world population, where it makes sense economically. We see the abuse of power exposed in countries like Myanmar (Burma) and Zimbabwe. At the same time, we see a connected world that will give more virtual power to people like Ellsworth in “The Fountainhead”:

“You see it practiced all over the world. Why are you disgusted? You have no right to sit there and stare at me with the virtuous superiority of being shocked. You’re in on it. You’ve taken your share and you’ve got to go along. You’re afraid to see where it’s leading. I’m not. I’ll tell you. The world of the future. The world I want. A world of obedience and of unity. A world where the thought of each man will not be his own, but an attempt to guess the thought of the brain of his neighbor who’ll have no thought of his own but an attempt to guess the thought of the next neighbor who’ll have no thought – and so on, Peter, around the globe. Since all must agree with all. A world where no man will hold a desire for himself, but will direct all his efforts to satisfy the desires of his neighbors who’ll have no desires except to satisfy the desires of the next neighbor who’ll have no desires – around the globe, Peter. Since all must serve all. A world in which man will not work for so innocent an incentive as money, but for that headless monster – prestige. The approval of his fellows – their good opinion – the opinion of men who’ll be allowed to hold no opinion. An octopus, all tentacles and no brain. Judgment, Peter! Not judgment, but public polls. An average drawn upon zeroes – since no individuality will be permitted.”

So, yes, Rand’s book does have a place with current readers. Her ideas captured in character’s speeches teach us to look at mass media with a hand on our wallet or purse. Since we know no one has any opinion, we know we can look for trends that someone else’s non-opinionated creation started and others will follow obediently. We can analyze the trends for potential financial gain for ourselves – for instance, which stock should we buy to take advantage of the new trends? Right now, housing stocks are down but oil stocks are up. When oil is too high, we look for the next “safe” place to stick our money – something like the growing popularity of “green” technology stocks. When “green” technology loses its cool, we go back to blue chip companies which have become ‘lean and mean’ in the years that their stock wasn’t popular and have growth spurts ahead of them again.

Rand and her colleagues wanted a world of laissez-faire or “hands off” capitalism. In other words, they wanted less government intervention. I understand the desire for less government. After all, who believes that the dollar they earned should be taken away and given to someone else? Unfortunately, government is an organization and organizations tend to grow bigger – bigger government implies higher taxes to pay for the government’s daily operations. The less money you have in your pocket of your dollar and the more money the government has of your dollar means the government has more spending money. As long as a government is run by people, you will have people like Ellsworth who want the power to spend other people’s money, even if they have none of their own, and thus will try to get a job in government so they can keep getting more and more of your earnings to spend how they wish.

So what does that mean? Well, while you’re tracking down the best way to build up your wealth, some anonymous face in government is finding a way to make it smaller by increasing next year’s budget in their government office. Likely, that anonymous face hides behind the public face of an elected government official, hoping that the public official or someone with similar government policies will keep getting elected. Doesn’t matter which political party to which you claim allegiance. Their leaders will work to get the most projects to their constituents. We expect no less. In fact, we usually expect more. More roads. More schools. More this. More that.

As our economy slows down, can we ask our government leaders to decrease the size of government? Probably not. After all, doesn’t conventional wisdom say that government growth in bad times spurs growth of the private sector to create good times again? But why be conventional, right?

I’m not a Randian, even though I’ll probably read, “Atlas Shrugged,” in the next week, putting two of Rand’s novels in front of my eyes in a few days. After pondering the subject of the purpose of government ever since Economics class in high school, I have concluded that although I only have one vote, I have one more important object in my possession: my voice. When I see something I don’t like or don’t understand, I speak up and ask, “Why?” I don’t see the local/state/national political entities and think Government, as if I’m looking at an impenetrable fortress that dictates to me. I see people who’ve taken their “Why?” and run for office to answer the question with the statement, “For me,” but I also see people who work at a government job like any other job and just do their job without asking questions. Ultimately, I see people whose opinions can change. When a political issue is important to me, I work to change the opinions of government workers, whether they’re public or hidden in layers of bureaucracy, to my way of thinking because I’ve found if a political issue is important to me, it’s important to a lot of other people, people who are too tired, too busy or just apathetic enough not to do anything to express their opinion about an important issue. I don’t care whether government grows or shrinks to accommodate my viewpoint on the issue although I’d rather the government not change in size at all for me. Like the architect in “The Fountainhead,” Howard, who designed buildings to his liking, I don’t seek fame, fortune, or power to get my way. I just know my way is right. I don’t want or need others to follow me to prove it because until they’re wrong about an issue in my eyes, they’re right in their way, too.

09 July 2008 – Book of Ideas

Some fiction authors have received, deserved or otherwise, the accusation that their books tell no true stories but rather turned into books about ideas. Characters and plots meant little. Or so I’ve read.

All fictional tales discuss ideas, though, don’t they? After all, the human reader has an idea about a book’s contents and may modify the thoughts around that idea while reading and contemplating the book. Romance novels, Westerns, science fiction, high school history…

As a teenager, I read classic science fiction novels like “Brave New World” and “1984” – clearly these two books deserve the admonition, “novel of ideas.”

My wife and I shopped at Unclaimed Baggage Center last weekend. We searched for hidden gems among the picked-over piles of clothes, electronics, and knick knacks. In times past we had found items that made our daily lives useful, including the Compaq Presario C501NR notebook PC I write this blog entry upon, purchased for $325.99 in January. This time, I had specific search criteria in mind – interesting books, especially the classics. Now, my pile of books to read includes, “The Fountainhead,” “Atlas Shrugged,” “Brave New World,” “1984,” “Don Quixote,” “I Am Legend,” and “The Dead Father.” I had already read some of Huxley, Orwell, Cervantes and Barthelme. I had yet to read Rand and Matheson. I have wondered about the writings of Ayn Rand for many years, only knowing her novels by reputation (e.g., that her stories talk about a utopian world where the laissez-faire corporate world makes society perfect, and that she developed a group of followers who worshipped her ideas despite her reputed aversion to god-type worshipping).

I know that reading these books will give me ideas. In fact, I had already decided that the two killers in my novel-in-progress, “The Mind’s Aye,” kill for the pleasure of attacking and eliminating ideas instead of humans. The killers and their victims will read some of the books I’ve read. The victims represent ideas that make no sense in the killers’ world. I hope that the characters’ descriptions will give the reader enough information to guess the ideas that the killers and victims represent. The plot itself represents another idea. The novel’s conclusion rests in the hands of the reader, much like life, with some randomness and uncertainty thrown in for good measure, to keep the reader wondering which parts of my other novels exist solely to point to the real conclusion of “The Mind’s Aye,” which wraps up some of the ideas presented in my previous novels. However, “The Mind’s Aye” exists in its own world so that readers can only read one of my works and feel satisfied they understand what my writing means. More curious readers can dig in to see the whole picture.

07 July 2008 – स्तोर्म्स, कानाल्स, एंड रोच्केट्स

Dream last night। Drive down to Florida to stay in resort B&B not far from Mom and Dad’s house in North Port. Large rain storm the day before we arrived so canal and ditches filled to brim with runoff. Spend the first day getting settled in — many hours used in deciding which clothes to put in drawers and which clothes to leave in suitcase. At the end of the day, I dive off third story balcony into lagoon area of canal behind B&B. Have fun swimming with humans and water animals at dusk, nighttime and at dawn the next day.

Drought sets in। By fifth day at resort, canal area near B&B drying up so Florida implements drought plan. I swim with other humans to direct dolphins, killer whales and other large water animals out of upper canal and on down to Everglades canal system. Informed that smaller fishes in upper canal will die in drought as part of natural process.

The canal flows under homes and floods some basements at times so while I use poles to direct killer whale away from dead end areas of canal, I swim not only under bridges but also through houses and see kids’ basement bedrooms under water। One kid has a large rocket he built.

Later, I find myself at a temporary campsite along a roadway। Some of us build rockets to launch for 4th of July celebration. I’ve built a tall mockup of the Saturn V made of styrofoam, which passersby see many blocks away. Others copy my design but use more appropriate rocket building materials. I decide to make my rocket eject and display a large U.S. flag during the 1st or second stage. All of our rocket building gets the attention of some unknown government entity which wants to see if any of us can get our model rockets into Earth orbit. I know mine can but I see bad weather coming and leave the area on foot.

Find myself on motorcycle racing to get home before another large storm system ravages the Southeast. Roadways washed out all along my trip. I get to mountain pass where bridge and mountainside completely gone. I work with others to find path along treacherous dropoff. Local female resident gives me directions to possible mountain pass. My motorcycle tires barely fit on edge of ledge, which crumbles to pieces as I speed across. At one point, I jump from bike and leap from one rock outcropping to another to get across ravine. On other side, I realize I left my motorcycle behind so decide to jog the rest of the way home through the rain, since I need the exercise anyway.

04 July 2008 – Judgment Call

[4 July 2008, 21:40] The boom and pop of fireworks. The expenditure for entertainment. The sound of having fun on the 4th of July in the United States. Disposable income. Human activity. At the same time, tree frogs croak in syncopated harmony. A percussive celebration for all!

72 deg F in Huntsville, Alabama, on this new moon night. I’ve got quiet on the brain. Just finished watching, “No Country for Old Men,” on my new Blu-Ray disc player. Saw, “In Bruges,” last night. Will also watch, “La Vie En Rose,” before returning the DVDs to the Movie Gallery rental store by Tuesday.

Some sort of problem with the right eye – infection, scratch, something. May be from the cat walking across my face last night. Put drops in my eye to keep it moist.

Ate lunch with Andrew Hale and Paul on Wednesday at Dreamland BBQ. The usual esoteric conversation. A possible business deal came up in the middle of our talk, about taking a dead SAIC project and turning it into a commercial venture. Business opportunities abound. The door opens a little but what lies on the other side of the darkened sill? [Take a couple of deep breaths to ponder] We only know when we step through.

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror in the near dark this evening, the only light coming from our 32” LCD TV in the master bedroom. I contemplated the reflection of my hands rubbing together under the water faucet (after 46 years, I realized I tend to rub liquid or solid soap between my palms and not so much rub the end of my fingers together to remove whatever it is I think I wash my hands for), remembering my childhood fear of unknown beings that friends told me come up out of the carpet when the lights went out so that I had to jump from one twin bed to the other in order to turn on the bedroom light when I wanted to go the bathroom and not get grabbed. How much have I depended on others’ opinions of how the world works! As I turned to dry off my hands, I thought about the creatures depicted in Hieronymus Bosch’s “The Last Judgment” and compared the bizarreness of Bosch’s painted universe to the killers in “No Country for Old Men.” I doubt I make this comparison for the first time in human minds and I know others will make the same comparison after me. However, I realized after I dried my hands that though I have met some true lunatics, even those who claim to have seen devils and followed their guidance, I have only televised or cinematic depictions of humans slaughtering one another to show me what devoted psychopaths can do. Soldiers, police and other civilian protection personnel, a type of temporary trained psychopath (brainwashed or even born with the propensity, if you will), have killed other humans in the world around me but not in front of me. Therefore, my stories have lacked maniacal killers. Death comes to my characters through “natural causes.” Why let that be?

My next book, “The Mind’s Aye,” gives voice to a couple of killers. I’ve looked into my collection of thoughts and found an area where the subject of depression gathers dust in a pile of books I’ve read and yellowed copies of recorded conversations I’ve had. Within that collection, a story emerges, showing how depression and suicide, the yang of the body that corresponds to the yin of happiness (or the other way around), without the counterbalancing weight of the conscience, gives rise to externalization of violence to self. I have an expanding outline of the book but the story lacks originality because…well, my life lacks originality at the moment.

I write because I want my conscious voice, the result of subconscious decisions, to take solid form. I write because I see an imaginary boxlike form in front of my mental eye that has no corresponding form in nature. I will spend my whole life trying to describe the shape of the box, the ever-changing surface, and the forces that keep it suspended in mid-air. I project the box’s image out of my eyes and onto this page.

I say “boxlike shape” only because I have the shape of a book in my mind right now. The object morphs constantly, cloudlike at times, a bouncing ball, usually a shapeless blob pushing down on my shoulders and forcing my torso into “hunched-over man” mode.

I finished reading, “The Brothers Karamazov,” a few days ago. My thoughts wandered as I wrapped up reading, pulling bits of Kafka, Schulz and Shakespeare out of the back of my mind as I wondered why the news recently quoted the Chinese president as saying he’s read the writings of Marcus Aurelius over 100 times (or was it Epictetus?). The West reads “The Art of War.” The East reads “Meditations” by Marcus Aurelius. Who influences whom in this situation and for what reason? No answer from me – I just expose myself to the news and hear from others what to read. I make no grand sweep of my arm and declare, like Umberto Eco, to have insights to share. I write what I think. Enough. Time for another paragraph.

At 22:43, the fireworks have stopped। The tree frogs keep croaking. I know the liter or so of Pepsi in my system will keep me caffeinated for a long time. I can go to bed and fall into a state of daydreaming, drifting into thoughts of incoherent behavior where the secondary meaning of one word or phrase influences the direction of the snakelike trail my mental storytelling takes.

The secret to my love of technology despite my dislike of the resultant environmental damage such technology causes? I look forward to the day I can plug myself into a machine that will capture my daydreaming so I can turn my thoughts into instant stories. No more conscious editing on the fly due to my slow typing or unwillingness to dictate my thoughts to a voice recorder and pay someone to transcribe my spoken words into typed text.

Yesterday, I saw the movie, “WALL-E,” with my wife. The movie’s depressing image of the future, with a toxic Earth pushing English-speaking, United States-centric humans into an automated spaceship where their lives turn into Matrix-like vegetative states, foretelling a not-so-distant future for real humans, gave me hope. First of all, I see how the generation behind me looks forward to a more-connected world. With cultures clamoring for attention in the virtual world, innovation will occur. With innovation comes improvement. Secondly, can we squeeze acceptance of others’ cultures into our daily thoughts, too? Absolutely. If so, then perhaps understanding will follow, showing that “survival of the species” can accommodate saving species subtypes.

On this anniversary of one political entity declaring independence from another, I believe the middle class will survive, even flourish, giving the world’s poor something to attain to, providing stability and preventing peasant uprisings in the process.

A Symbiotic Relationship

[2 July 2008, 23:37] To live in perpetuity. We imagine such a life. Yet, on this night of the new moon, when an eclipse can and has occurred somewhere on Earth, I see perpetuity in the call of the tree frog and the smell of a scented candle. I look at myself reflected in the glass of the sunroom door, the image of the human nearest me, the only representative of the human race I know, and wonder what perpetuity really means.

Many thoughts occur to me, either through recollection of the day’s events or expectation of what I will do. In this moment, when I sit here secluded in the sunroom, the cats locked in the house with my sleeping wife, what do I think about? How do I appreciate this moment and this moment only?

I feel some tension in the muscles of the neck and upper body. I show my appreciation by letting those muscles relax as much as possible while also maintaining a hold of my hands over the laptop keyboard. I bend my ear toward the open window and hear not only the tree frogs but also the katydids and the hum of nearby traffic. Maybe also crickets. I show my appreciation by rejoicing that I still enjoy sounds in frequencies outside my hearing loss. The sights around me exist almost solely in the realm of human creation – objects in the sunroom lit by the table lamp, night light, street light, or outdoor solar light. These I appreciate for the creativity of human minds. I smell a fart composed of fermented, digested foods from earlier today, including barbeque chicken, baked beans, potato salad, banana pudding, Sicilian salad, cantaloupe, Godiva chocolate brulee, tea, Sam Adams beer, cappuccino and oatmeal. The candle overwhelms me, otherwise. I show my appreciation by taking deep breaths through my nose, flaring my nostrils for full effect. I taste toothpaste and tomato sauce. I show my appreciation by licking my lips and swallowing. I reread this paragraph, seeing that what looks like sanity and normality stays with me throughout the day. I show my appreciation by smiling to myself.

Thirty or forty yards away, the driveway of my new neighbor plays host to a variety of performances throughout the week. Sometimes, my neighbor will start up his rumbling diesel Dodge truck before my wife leaves for work but usually he leaves after she does. During the day, he will return to the house to walk his Rottweiler around the backyard while he chats away on his cell phone. Occasionally, workers will come to his house to put objects in his garage. Just now, at midnight, a car quietly turned on and backed down the driveway without turning on headlights. I had entered the sunroom and typed on this laptop computer for half an hour before the car made its presence known. Of the car’s occupants, I can only guess their number/age/sex/reason for backing down the driveway. I do know the car came out of the garage because although I observed only brake lights to indicate the movement of the car (and I only guess the vehicle’s shape as a car because the brakes appeared low to the ground and the engine barely made a sound), I did see what looked like a garage door closing and the automatic garage light stay on and go off after approximately five minutes.

I sit here and wonder how long the caffeinated effects of three glasses of unsweet tea consumed from 11:30 to 15:00 and one cup of cappuccino consumed at 20:00 to wash down a small dish of Godiva chocolate laced crème brulee will last. I sit here to spend time writing, to give myself the opportunity to appreciate my existence in the middle of the night. I sit here to allow myself…hmm…”allow myself” to what? More than just to be. If I allowed mere existence to enshroud my sense of self, I could lie down in bed with one cat in my arm, one cat between my legs and my wife at my right elbow serenading my eardrums while I mentally twiddled my thumbs until I finally fell asleep.

I sit here to write to you. Ahh…that word. “You.” “Tu.” “Vous.” The other. Not the self. A human body whose thoughts I can guess from your actions only. Even if I had an instrument that could tell me with great certainty your next action, and thus to some degree your action-oriented thoughts, I still see those actions and thoughts from my perspective, not yours. So what? By the age of two, most everyone knows these things.

But do we? Of course we do. At least, as long as we have a normal set of genes. Even an abnormal or unbalanced set of genes leans us toward a basic understanding of self-vs-other. The very essence of life separates a living entity from the rest of the universe, giving rise to self preservation, the recognition of others’ desire to exist. Again, I repeat old concepts and understandings. I do so to crawl through the muck of a swamp to reach the bottom of a foothill that leads to a small mountain whose peak will give me a vista from which I may pick a path down to the next water-logged valley and climb my way up a higher mountain whose view will lead to higher plateaus of understanding.

I drag my feet. I wearily lift my legs. I laugh to gain strength. I stop and put my hands on my hips, sucking in air. My thoughts serve both as burden and sustenance. The weight stays the same. My journey exists outside time, trapped in an unknown space. My vocabulary loses meaning. What can I do with words like “justice,” “fairness,” “kindness,” “football,” “thirst,” “love,” “hate,” “meanness,” or “fashion”?

A story begs for telling. Yet without words, where does my story find a starting point, clash or climax? Can I tell my story at the same time I live life in the moment? Sure, I can use a running commentary, an immersive video catalog of my daily actions, with multiple angles and views. But like my thoughts, these momentarily turn into the past.

What purpose would my story serve? As a historical record, of course. At the least, anyway.

For whom? A useless question.

So our lives turn into stories, with obvious twists and plots that grow with hindsight. We all know that.

I sit here, taking up space. I use stuff. I suck on energy supplied through electrical lines that feed the halogen lamp, laptop computer and other devices dependent on remote power plants. Fossil fuel. Nuclear energy. Hydroelectric dams.

My eyes dart around and my fingers pop up and down. Every once in a while, I scratch myself or move around to keep from stiffening up.

I exist and allow myself to merely exist, asking only that I perform minimum duties required of me to justify my existence to others. If justifying my existence mattered little, could I only sit and watch how others justify their existence by text, audio and video performances broadcast into domiciles through the Internet, and/or cable, satellite or over-the-air television? For a while. Kind of like eating peanut butter and crackers for a week. Better find some variety the next week to offset the sameness. We all crave variety. For some, variety may mean new television programs to watch. I crave a little more.

At 1:10, I can tell the caffeine has worn off. My butt muscles have numbed. I see the stories I could tell that justify my existence as a typist but can wait till tomorrow or the next day because I allow myself to put the stories aside so I can sleep.

My life occurs regardless of telling it like a story. Maybe in spite of it. The stories I tell may include my life. Actually, they have to. Despite my attempt to hide myself, to let myself exist outside of space and time in a land of perpetuity where I neither live nor die but wander and wonder aimlessly, I find my body sitting here patiently waiting for stories to unfold, wake up, look at me, take me in, including my five senses, my pounding pulse, my popping synapses, and my numb butt, gauge my worth in an imaginary life and stick me into their plotting ways. Woe to me to even get in their way right now. I’ll just go to bed and let them work out all the details overnight.

Taking Up Space

What can I say? I have a carbon footprint and will continue to do so. I’ll manage to drive fewer road miles to make up for this blog. In the meantime, I’ll jump back into blogging and give my voice worldwide exposure, if not attention. ;^)

 

Concluding this chapter

Well, the heat of summer has arrived and with the heat comes the sign that my first year away from corporate life draws to a close.  Hard to believe over a year ago I began the effort to say goodbye to the office life.  In my thoughts, happiness and joy make the time feel so much longer, as if I’ve always enjoyed the freedom of an unstructured day.  In some ways, I have.  Although I functioned well, performing the duties requested of me, I never felt I belonged to the world of meetings, memos and monthly reports.

I heard an interview with Federico Fellini on television yesterday.  He said that an artist should have some restrictions on freedom.  Otherwise, an artist will do nothing.  Thus, he negotiated advances on his next film so that he would have to do something to keep from paying back the advance.  Good advice.

In a similar manner, I have to pay a yearly fee to maintain a website, and a monthly fee to maintain a blog, and had hoped that the fees would encourage me to find a way to earn an income with my writing.  I had even gone over the writings of Fitzgerald, Steinbeck and Hemingway in an effort to understand if they struggled with the impact their writing made on the world.  I made no conclusions based on their writings.  Instead, I see that I still believe my writing belongs to anyone who enjoys reading what I have to say.  I have no desire to profit from others’ enjoyment.  For those who expressed an interest in my books, I have tried to buy and send them a copy so they would avoid spending money on printing/shipping a book to themselves on my behalf.

After much thought about what I value most, the impact I make on this world, I have decided that maintaining a website and blog only serves to boost my ego and negatively impacts the environment with the daily energy consumed in a remote data center where the electronic copy of my website and blog resides, as well as the energy used to construct the computer server, software, data center, power lines, access roads, etc.  Therefore, this blog entry will signify my last foray into the virtual world.

I create this last blog entry to notify anyone who reads this blog that the “Life In The Cove” blog will cease to exist in the next few days.  I will continue to write in my journals, and should enough material warrant a short story collection or full-length novel, I will share that material with those friends and family who continue to express an interest.  Otherwise, I have sated my ego and leave precious resources for others to use, instead.  I part ways with my blog readers and leave you these words:

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The power of the individual

 

One person can make a difference. I started the Huntsville Christmas Tree Recycling Program back in 1991 because I couldn’t stand seeing so much waste go to the Huntsville landfill — all it took was weeks of meetings with city officials, private industry and volunteer groups, along with appearing on TV occasionally, to get the project approved and going. If I could do it with no previous experience, so can anyone else. Just maintain a sense of humor and stay focused on the goal. If you want a lottery or free dental care for Alabama, then got off your posterior and knock on doors at the state legislature, visit civic groups and hold press conferences — eventually, after people see your persuasive personality and conviction, they’ll believe your message.

And remember, Alabama always has one thing to be thankful for — Mississippi!

I believe it was the former governor of Alabama, George Wallace, who promised that Alabamians would always be able to afford to live in their homes because the state/local taxes would never be raised to the rates that places like Taxachussetts charge. So, we continue to carry on that legacy of low taxation (thank goodness we don’t carry on many other legacy policies of that era). If you have children and Alabama public schools fail to meet your children’s education needs, I recommend looking at some of the private schools around here as an option.

 

 

No Child Left Behind…sigh…with both my parents, my sister and friends in public education, I’ve learned that No Child Left Behind should be called Giving Kids A Dumbed-Down Curricula. Pretty soon, we’ll have no U.S.-born children educated enough to get math or science degrees in college so you better work with your employer to recruit overseas and get H1B Visas for new highly-qualified coworkers, if you want your company to compete globally.

 

I’m a fiscal conservative who believes in freedom of speech and the right to protect ourselves from overpowerful governments, including our own (thus, we have the right to bear arms and with that right comes tolerance — don’t shoot our neighbors or threaten them with violence because they may be different than us; we have joint responsibility for our society and thus as citizens of a political entity, should give some money for jointly-owned systems including a roadway system, education system and citizen protection system; I understand a social welfare system takes care of less fortunate citizens but we should use lifetime limits (like the limits that private health insurance imposes: $xxxx for loss of a hand, $xxxx for dental care, etc.) and not have an open-ended national health care system; we shouldn’t use trumped-up threats from overseas to drain the national coffer for war profiteers). There are no Republicans or Democrats who meet my demands for government leadership. Thus, I guess my label is Independent. My favorite cartoon character was a canine so I plan to vote for Underdog for U.S. President.

6/12/2008 11:06 AM

After two years of waiting…don’t follow me — I’m happily lost!

Nearly two years ago, my brother in-law died unexpectedly at 51 years of age.  Seems like he developed a blood clot in his legs after spending time in a hospital for removal of a kidney stone.  He went home but his health deteriorated.  Back at the hospital, he worsened when the blood clots spread to his lungs, reducing his oxygen-exchange capacity, and then the clots moved to his heart, causing cardiac arrest while in the hospital, no less.  If hospital personnel fail to resurrect you, then your time is up.

In the ensuing months, I’ve faced my mortality as if my time had come and gone.  Living on borrowed time and all that.  Put the time to use (good use for me, not so good for my wife).  Retired from corporate life.  Started a consulting business and a personal/professional website with blog.  Up and down income.  Wrote two novels, published four, working on a fifth.  Interviewed as an author for the first time.  First professional critical review of a novel of mine.  Suddenly more attractive to women.

All the while, an elephant-sized ghost stood in the room, haunting me, taunting me, pointing out my insufficiencies compared to my deceased brother in-law, laughing at my accomplishments, knowing they’d pale in comparison to the festivities and excitement surrounding the launch of GLAST (Gamma-ray Large Area Space Telescope), jabbing me with a finger every time we attended a ceremony at NSSTC to dedicate the satellite or a plaque to my brother in-law’s memory.

Last week, I hung out with my wife and her family in the Cape Canaveral area, hoping to see the GLAST launch.  Unfortunately, the launch date slipped to today, nearly a week after my sister in-law and kids returned to Huntsville and several days after my wife, mother in-law and I returned to our homes.  All of us missed a personal viewing of the launch but my wife, mother in-law and I did get to attend a briefing and reception as special VIP guests of NASA.

Patience is a vulture, slowly circling overhead.  After two years of waiting, GLAST launched successfully earlier today and took the ghost in the room with it into orbit.  A great weight also lifted off my shoulders.  I no longer live on borrowed time.

As of today, I live as a new man, free to see the future without peering through the fog of the past.  The skies have cleared.  Smooth sailing ahead.  Now, if I only had a map and compass…but if I don’t know where I’m going, I won’t have to stop to ask for directions.  LOL

6/11/2008 1:17 PM

Flying and flirting

[1 June 2008] Trying out the Pulse digital pen at the McGhee Tyson Airport in Knoxville, TN. Sitting at the GATE 1 entrance with my wife and her mother. A few other passengers sit around us. My wife bought me a solar-powered flashing light on a keychain from an airport store – she also bought some for nieces and nephews. A lot of noise bouncing around in the terminal. Still trying to determine how to maximize the use of this pen.

Plane delay – mechanical problem, diverted to Atlanta, second plane sent to Knoxville – original departure time of 3:05 p.m. changed to approximately 6:45 p.m. We moved over to Gate 3. In the meantime I continue to read, “Afternoon of an Author,” and edit my own writing. I also bought the latest James Bond novel, “Devil May Care,” for mindless reading on the beach. So now, armed with new words, new scenery, new airport sounds and future novel reading/writing awaiting me, I languish in suburbia land, wondering where my thoughts and words will carry me.

Across the way, a student sings and plays his guitar, high school age kid, dirty blond hair at breast length, black shirt with emblem of dollar sign slashed through, bright eyes looking around as he plays. Does he look for attention or ideas for a song? Pilot eating carryout while chatting on cell phone (earlier today, a friend of mine caught herself referring to a cell phone as a car phone, revealing her age, 62).  Passenger at counter scolded by ticket agent for missing previous flight because he’d stepped out to buy a bottle of Chardonnay. Breezeways down to airplane surrounded by stone entry – medieval/mountain gateway look, reminiscent of cabins in the Smokies?

In flight. Reading Fitzgerald, author of “my life, as it was and as it could have been, never enough.” My wife did not enjoy reading Fitzgerald, Hemingway, or Steinbeck (“too depressing,” “too plain,” and “too raw”). Too bad. Perhaps she expresses the difference between women and men, or women of a certain kind and men of a certain kind. Below me, the telltale signs of modern subdivisions – S-shaped roads surrounded by postage stamp lots – promising bankers future quarterly statements full of mortgage payments and some small percent of foreclosures. “Money makes the world go around.” How do I make money to make my world spin round with love, fun, happiness, optimism, joie de vivre, and do what you please?

Our flight attendant prepares drinks for us and uses her gift for humorous observation to keep her cool after a strenuous flight on a plane with mechanical problems that landed in Atlanta. Hair the color of a settled glass of Guinness beer, eyes that playfully pierce, cheerleader personality – guess she likes traveling? What puts her on this mode of daily living at her age, late 30s? An Atlanta accent, suburban Southern. Kissable lips. What could we talk about? Hmm… When does conversation take a back seat and only speak when spoken to, seen and not heard, children to ply with gifts and candy to buy their silence? Gifts like what? I wonder…how about eye candy, images so vivid they shock one into silence now and wait to spark rapid verbal exchanges later. Just a job for her, I suppose…

Yes, Atlanta gal, all right, per conversation between my wife and her. Boyfriend in Connecticut – he went to “Sex and the City” movie without her – ended up with six 20-year olds, “teenagers.” She, though a smoker, more than kissable, all right. No personal space between us. Made a point to share sweets with us that her ex-boyfriend put in her mailbox. Must go through a lot of boyfriends, or keeps the few she’s had on a long chain. Brown eyes, not blue. A Savannah gal, after all, I discovered as she and I talked briefly on my way off the plane – she didn’t know I was with my wife and mother in-law, just thought I was a guy being nice to fellow passengers. Boyfriend in Connecticut a long way away, even by plane. She likes to love the one she’s with if she’s not with the one she loves. Sigh…live and let live, I suppose. Did I say I wanted to live a monk’s life? More like a monkey, barely a primate, really, at this pace. I suppose a higher form of consciousness means breaking all sorts of barriers but do I have to cross the line every time? Consequence for every action when I do, most likely. No penalty for flirting unless expectations denied means a negative response in return later on. “Stick and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.” Right…

6/11/2008 1:02 PM

Politics for the masses

As I slip back into the life of a monk, with wisps of smoke curling around my head from the fire of civilization that burns up the surface of this planet, I cough to clear my lungs and out pops a puff, a small cloud of dust and yellow dirt that slightly shows the influence of the ongoing process of selecting a new member of the elite club known as the U.S Presidency and the accompanying change of courtiers and court advisors who will mete out public monies based on the age-old system of cronyism and paybacks.

Any U.S. President is just a reflection of a team of advisors and hidden leaders — in other words, a figurehead.  Yet we blame a President for the U.S.’s condition under his/her watch because of the belief in “the buck stops here.”  I doubt any modern President can exit the Oval Office after a second term with high public opinion scores.  Americans are too fickle!  Where is our sense of humor to temper our displeasure?  No matter the party affiliation, a President does not run a country — have citizens forgotten the phrase of a previous President, who concluded a dedication to the dead soldiers of the U.S. Civil War with the admonition that this nation “shall have a new birth of freedom — and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth?”  Before we blame a President for our problems, I hope we have taken the time to make changes for the positive in our local economy, with laughter thrown in to improve our good health.

 

I wonder if this country will fade in political importance as a superpower just as it is fades in monetary power.  China, India and Russia seem to redefine the new world order, with the EU left to counterbalance things and the United States to take the blame the way that the last great superpower, Great Britain, used to (just like the other Western powers before that, France and Spain; and Eastern powers like Japan).  As long as English is the language of business, the United States and Great Britain will have an influence on the global mass media, however (with smaller influence by Australia and other English-speaking countries).  Will the U.S. maintain its role as world police?

 

I have yet to figure out if most average Americans will use Spanish as their everyday language one day but keep English as a/the official language of business.  It seems to be going that way, assuming current population growth trends, including the continued large-scale northern migration of Latin and South Americans whose ancestors first populated North America eons ago.  If so, it’ll merely reflect the changing democratic makeup and the end of the era of daily dominance by Scots-Irish and other northern European descendants on this continent, but not an end to the United States of America itself (created in part by many a Scots-Irish immigrant).  Where my sister’s children and grandchildren fit in, I have no clue.  I imagine that they should learn to speak Spanish, though, and become bilingual just like the rest of the world.

In this age of quick population shifts, each of us looks inside and asks, “Who am I?”  Are we bearers of our family’s heritage?  Absolutely.  How do we share our ancestors’ wisdom and cultural practices with our children?  If I and the person with whom I conceived a child have different family backgrounds, how do we get disparaging views across the generation gap?  Which folklore tales do we share?  Pick the best ones, then mix and match? Perhaps.  The answer lies within each one of us, in the stone-solid beliefs we acquired from our parents and surrounding society.  If we wait to be told what to tell our children, we give up belief in ourselves.

Who am I?  I am the inheritor of many cultures.  I am the reenactors of Renaissance Faires, American Indian Pow-wows, Fundamentalist Camp Revivals, Pagan Rituals, Rock Festivals, Political Rallies, Civil War Battles, and other human gatherings.  At the same time, I am me, ever learning, ever growing, accepting of new ideas and new technologies, always aware that a light heart, a big smile and a sympathetic ear carry me throughout the day, even when I sit alone with myself.

To live in society takes tolerance.  Each of us, whether a next-door neighbor or a figurehead running for political office, has a story to tell.  As we tell and retell our stories, listen to what other people’s bodies say.  Then, when we let other people talk, listen to their voices and stories.  Every story, no matter how foreign to us, teaches an important lesson, if we’re willing to learn.

As I close this blog entry to meditate on replanting hostas pulled up by raccoons digging into freshly watered soil and determining an environmentally safe way to prevent the raccoons digging up the planters again, I pray that whichever person our society selects for the next U.S. President, we’ll celebrate our differences and work together to improve conditions for ourselves and future generations on this planet.  Now that’s a story worth telling!

6/10/2008 10:24 AM

Tuesday Morning on a Monday Afternoon

I parked the BMW in a newly marked space on the freshly tarred parking lot. On a mission to purchase a Wamsutta Coolmax mattress pad (queen sized), I stepped out of the car into the 92-degree heat, nodding my head at my chosen outfit for this excursion, an old pair of shorts, spotted with splotches of paint and deck stain from past home improvement projects, and a short-sleeved shirt made of tropical print fabric, as if blue martini glasses, blue palm trees and Polynesian patterns naturally go together.

Inside the store, I beelined for the bedding department, putting my hunter-gatherer skills to use while stalking the prey hidden among shelves stuffed with comforters, quilts, bed sheets, pillow covers and my particular quest, a mix of artificial materials, including some sort of plastic tubing that wicks away moisture and heat.

There, sitting behind its little brother, the twin sized unit, and squeezed beside a heated mattress pad, the plastic-wrapped quilted pad quivered in fear. Who was I to claim this innocent victim?

I jabbed my paw into the plastic, pulled the mattress pad out and dragged its shaking carcass to the front of the store.

A cheerful young woman with two long braided ponytails (anyone remember Pippi Longstocking?) batted her lashes at me from behind her eyeglasses. She wiped her hands on the front of a store apron.

“You ready?”

“Is this the mattress pad advertised in last week’s flyer?”

“It sure is.”

“Great!”

“Okay, let me ring it up for you, then. Oh wait, I’ve got to log out of the other register.”

I watched the woman saunter over to the other register. Seeing her 5’4” tall and 150- to 200-pound body, I caught a glimpse of a conversation with her in a small, sparsely furnished apartment, the two of us discussing the people we’d met that day while I furiously wrote down our give-and-take.

The woman interrupted my brief fantasy. “Mind if I use a pencil?”

I looked at her as she held a finger over the number keypad, her inquisitive face pointed at me, and squinted at the dimly-lit computer display. A small white outline surrounded the phrase, “Zip Code,” with a flashing cursor sitting at the beginning of a short line. I then realized she must have asked, “May I have your zip code?”

“35763.”

She typed in the number and turned to me to take my credit card.

“You know, going deaf has its rewards. I just thought you said, ‘Mind if I use a pencil?’ and then I realized you were asking for my zip code.”

She closed her eyes for a few seconds, revealing a delicacy, a swash of rich chocolate eye shadow playfully spread across her eyelids. I wanted to lean over and smell the cocoa aroma. Instead, I noticed her cleavage as she leaned over to hand me the credit card slip to sign. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I used to work with a lady here who talked to herself all the time. I caught myself every few minutes going, ‘Huh?’ because my hearing’s not too good, either, and I thought she was talking to me. On top of that, I’m dyslexic.”

We exchanged knowing smiles. “That’s funny. Reminds me of an old joke. What does an agnostic dyslexic think to himself in the middle of the night? I wonder if there’s a dog.”

“Hmm…I’d never heard of that one. Anyway, that woman would talk to herself ALL the time. Crazy.” She rolled her eyes and closed them again for a second. Another flash of her eyelids and I swore I smelled roasting cocoa.

“You know, that’d make a good story.”

“I bet. Have a good day.”

“You, too!” I slipped the sunglasses off the top of my head, over my eyes and stepped back out into the early summer heat, glad that the heat wave had swept on up the East Coast and left this area a little cooler.

I returned to the house and grabbed up the laptop computer I had pulled out for afternoon writing just as my wife called earlier to ask me to grab my hunting gear — car keys, credit card and garage door opener — and head to the store. Back home in my writing haven, I tried to reset my mind to the spot in my thoughts where I wanted to talk about the library book, “Afternoon Of An Author,” by Scott Fitz and my start into “The Price Was High,” by the same author, and wonder aloud about my own fate. Instead, I pulled a Water Joe out of the fridge, shut myself in the bedroom to get away from the cats and sat down to relive the everyday humor of the scene at Tuesday Morning.  To contemplate the price of living on one’s words would have to wait another day.

6/9/2008 3:53 PM

Father’s Day (a prose poem to my father)

We never choose to enter this world.  Instead, beholden to those who conceived and cared for our helpless selves, we soon act independent, as if we alone can claim responsibility for our existence.  Coincidence and happenchance take turns proving otherwise.  Despite our feelings of manifest destiny, we encounter challenges that temporarily defeat us or alter our trek.  Humor and perspective help cool our heels in the midst of our rush to reach for the stars.

This week, while I enjoy flirting and playing “grab ass” with young women here in Cape Canaveral, I hear the leftover pangs of loss that Hunter, Jonathan, Jana, my wife and her mother exhale as they fully face the loss of Fred Allan Berry, Jr., during the lead up to the GLAST satellite launch.  Even before that, on the Saturday when my wife and I attended a wedding before driving up to Rogersville, I saw the advantages of good looks and smart wits I owe in great measure to you, when two former work colleagues of mine, one a widow in her 50s and the other a divorcee in her 20s, both vied for my attention, with the younger gal nearly shoving my wife out of the way to press her case that her attractiveness should outweigh my 34-year history with my wife.  Included in her soliloquy, I heard about her two children, aged five and seven, and their academic/athletic achievements.  To say my ego inflated, and floating up to the heavens with a bright, flashing neon sign that said, “Middle aged means distinguished, not old!”, smacked me in the side of the head and told me to drop integrity and wedding vows out of my vocabulary, would insult my habit for humble awareness of my capabilities.  Also reminds me of the saying, “Never look back unless you want to see your shadow chasing after your tail.”  At age 46, I thought my life of vigor had reached an end.  Instead, I find myself standing in a luscious garden — tropical, exotic, invigorating, sensual — and smile.  I can savor the scents for a moment while I measure the future value of choosing a new flowerbed to call my own.  HAPPY FATHER’S DAY!

6/9/2008 3:36 PM

Punch and cookies

[31 May 2008] Wedding…Deena Haynes East and Phillip David Sisk.  Saw several former work colleagues from ADS Environmental Services, including: Carol Ann Farley and her husband, Steve Walters, Cheri Haynes and her husband Bill (parents of the bride), Janet Burns [still a good-looking and sassy woman; I can say that now that she’s no longer my boss] and Christy Hale Kennamer [as beautiful and smart as ever].  I feel like I saw more folks because we discussed old friends like Doug Flanagan, Bruce and Xioake Winkler, Dennis “Catdaddy” McPhearson, Scott Alie, Dana Allhands Balsbough, Kelly Bishop Brewer, Mark Carter, Marsha Hosner, Brooke Boen Burns, Lynne Reynolds, Suzanne and husband Shane…who else?  Hmm…at 1 a.m. Eastern time here in Rogersville, TN (and thus officially 1st June 2008), my mind, although artificially stimulated with caffeine and sugar, suffers slightly from exhaustion in anticipation of upcoming events, including the flight from Knoxville to Orlando tomorrow, spending the week in Cape Canaveral area with the Berry family while anxiously awaiting the launch of the GLAST satellite that Allan worked on before his death in June 2006.

The wedding reception today offered a welcome respite, especially while hearing about the wonderful accomplishments of friends’ children, like Christopher, the son of Mark and Denise Carter, who now has “Broadway star” added to his list of thespian talents (so, too, the children of David and Linda Meigs, who have starred on Huntsville stages).  Christy’s two kids, Levi and Aubrey (?), have turned out well despite their parents’ divorce four years ago. Levi, in second grade, has reached the top of his class, too (smart like his mother).  Aubrey seems more wild (like her father?).  I can’t believe that Christy has grown up so fast!

My wife helps her mother prepare to travel by air in this post-9/11 world by assembling her liquids and removing sharp objects from her carry-on luggage — you know, kind of like going back to kindergarten!

6/9/2008 3:24 PM

No longer coworker or boss

May those that love us, love us;

And for those that don’t love us,

May God turn their hearts;

And if he can’t turn their hearts,

May he turn their ankles;

So we may know them by their limping.

— An Irish toast

[3 June 2008, Cape Canaveral] Relaxing in the Florida sunshine, I survey my surroundings. The blue skies, subtropical, hinting of early evening showers that’ll pop up over the Atlantic Ocean and pour over the Cape Canaveral shore, warn me of the ultraviolet radiation that quickly pierces the melanin-absent skin of this writer of northern European descent.

You once lived near the Gulf of Mexico. How many times did you watch ships pass over salt water, condominium towers guard the beach and sunbathers bask in the summer heat? What draws humans to walk barefoot in the sand, dodging seagulls and sharp-edged shells, while coconut-oiled kids race back and forth from frothy waves to watchful parents splayed across towels advertising beer, babes and cigarettes? The warmth of companionship, perhaps.

How long have we known each other? Fifteen years or so, I guess. In that time, you separated from your husband, your son married, your husband died, you moved south (Pascagoula? To run a cookie franchise?), you moved north, your son divorced and you rejoined ADS. Or so I’ve observed. Of course, our days fill with details, some forgotten, we leave behind in our fast-paced lives, details we share with strangers, loved ones, friends or family, depending on the contents and context. Thus, to say I know you…

I only know your smile, a bit of your sense of humor, a little more about your level of intelligence, the fact you have grandkids. In other words, as much as any two coworkers who’ve stayed in touch can say. We all face tragedy and triumph in our lives, make peace with those who’ve crossed our paths and learn to love adversity. When do coworkers find friendship has bridged the gap left abandoned after coordination to complete a work assignment between them no longer mattered? Do we ever know?

Sometimes, when we listen not to the words we exchange but to the tone of voice, or sense of self worth reaffirmed in a single glance, we understand.

The future, automatically oblique, obtuse, translucent at times, yet remains unknown. Data analysis, though, shows us some futures reveal themselves through predictive patterns. Relaxing in the Florida sunshine, the horizon stretches out before me, curved not flat. Do you see?

6/9/2008 3:22 PM

Golden Reflection

To me fair friend, you never can be old,

for as you were when first your eye I eyed,

such seems your beauty still.

— Shakespeare

[3 June 2008, Cape Canaveral] Words, I’ve found, can sharpen the wit and soothe the soul with more strength than any sword bore. Therefore, let the words on this page serve as a compliment to the beauty found in your intelligence that we all observed when you first joined ADS so that the sentiment of the quote from Shakespeare stays away from the superficial level of beauty that television and magazine ads try to sell.

I commend you on the merits of motherhood you displayed while talking with me about your children at Deena’s wedding reception. At once, I sensed all the emotions that raising a super smart boy and slightly wild girl has triggered in you. After a couple of days musing over the circumstances that led to the life you lead, I sat down with pen and paper to capture the image of strength and resolve you projected. Should I move forward with plans pulled from my mental considerations for a new life, I’ll include the words I wrote with a personal notecard to you. Otherwise, should you comb the beach for words and phrases dashed onto the everchanging shore from the confluence of sights and sounds that the undulating waves of the Internet toss about, I hope in the busy life of raising two wonderful children, you will find time to read these typed words, instead.

Keep in mind that writing defines who I am so as you read my writing please understand that all I have, these words, represents all I have to give so I give them freely, with no false expectations, promises or hope. I wake up every morning knowing my love for this world will give me the opportunity to lift up someone with a smile or a kind word or deed. I saw the same in you on Saturday when you told me about the practicality of making children’s athletic uniforms the same – bless your children with love, not love of material things.

All else takes care of itself when we stay focused on our priorities, n’est pas?

6/9/2008 3:19 PM

Justice when it’s just us

[NOTES ON THE ROAD] What do we, when living as statistically sane and rational humans (especially those who actively practice Stoicism), put our brains into use to create an image of our surroundings that justifies our daily habits (perhaps this sentence should start with how or why, instead)?  Our toolmaking abilities, our adaptive behavior, our…what else?  We teach our children to love one another but accept the killing of enemies.  We contradict ourselves all the time.  In other words, we accept the chaotic events of our environment at the same time we try to create supernatural rules to live by.  We know a hurricane/typhoon, earthquake or other natural disaster has more power than one human can wield.  Even so, one human can end the life of another in ways no one can imagine.  So we give some fellow humans authority to protect us from insanely destructive behavior.  We create a subculture of “criminal justice.”  How do we prevent humans from entering that subculture in the first place, whether the guards or the guarded?  How do we nurture our offspring to encourage individuality while at the same time teaching them to exhibit social behavior that conforms to established nondestructive norms?

6/5/2008 9:38 AM

 

What did you say?

[4 June 2008, 0730] While sitting alone in the common room of a third floor hotel suite at Residence Inn – Marriott in Cape Canaveral in the early morning hours, watching birds acclimated to the coastal area of eastern Florida, I listen.

Expecting to hear the chatter of the grackle or the coo of a mourning dove, I listen to the sound of constant ringing, the aural signpost that I long ago entered Tinnitus Territory.

Like the pirate tales of old, warning signs of “STAY OUT,” “YE BE WARNED,” and “GO BACK” existed, but I ignored them as I attended rock concerts, mowed lawns, cut wooden boards with electric circular saws, inserted screws with electric drills and played loud music through headphones, telling myself that the numb ear sensations would pass.

Now, the permanent sensation of whistling, whooshing, ringing and buzzing accompany me on my journey through life.

I raise my cup of hotel-supplied Royal Cup Hearth Room blended coffee that complemented a Dunkin Donuts French cruller a moment ago and celebrate going deaf.

6/5/2008 8:55 AM

What are friends for if I can’t write them letters?

[2 June 2008, Cape Canaveral, Florida] How do we celebrate the gift of a peaceful sunrise? A smile, perhaps. Or a sigh. When a thunderstorm blesses us with much needed rain, do we run outside and dance around, cleansing our bodies and souls in the process?

You may one day find yourself wondering why intelligence and beauty permeate your family genes. Or you may simply smile whenever your children and grandchildren excel in the academic world. Certainly, telling others gives you the simple pleasure of a returned phrase of praise.

Saturday, I saw a young woman who spends each day working to give her children the love, kindness, knowledge, and wisdom that she carries with her in her vocational and personal life. I see you’ve accepted God’s gifts and continue to nurture those gifts, including intelligence, beauty, friendliness, curiosity, ambition, and last but not least, humbleness. How proud your family must feel when they look at you and your children!

I would look back and feel amazed myself, if I hadn’t already known your potential, what, almost ten years ago? I feel lucky to sit here and remember your early career at ADS, watching as a young flower blossomed and grew into a rose garden, a complex note on the air, a fragrance at once familiar and yet…slightly mysterious. Planted in the earth but floating freely at the same time. Presiding over a formal arrangement in the midst of a natural, unfettered environment.

Do your children define you? I have only nieces and nephews to look at and thus my experience with the influence of children on my personality comes at a distance. They admire their uncle and know they can turn to me for knowledge and material goods that their parents refuse to provide. Thus, while I’ve changed diapers a time or two, I do wonder what night after night of lost sleep to raise a child does to cement a parent’s commitment to a child’s future. You have a clear understanding of what to do: provide a loving home, make sure your children know their father, balance growth of the body and mind through academic and athletic training, and prepare yourself mentally in order to earn a living as long as possible to put food on the table and a roof overhead. In other words, I envy you.

Why else would I sit here on this sunny Monday morning in the shade of a hotel veranda while my wife, mother in-law, sister in-law, nephew, niece and niece’s fiancé sleep? Why? So I could listen to the excited voices of children eating breakfast as their parents plan the events for today’s vacation in Florida and wonder what this lone male writes on a notepad from the bedside stand, all of us watching birds fly by.

As you know, age (the passing of years, at least) gives us the perspective of time. Whether we use the perspective to admire wrinkles in the mirror or improve our demeanor depends on our personalities. Although I’ve observed the miracle of life produce an Arab beauty with brains, I venture to say that person wants more than what she possesses today. Other than a better future for her children, what else does she ask for when she sits down at night after putting the kids to sleep, going over the day’s events, preparing for the next day and perusing the future? Questions like these patiently wait for answers. The answers themselves pause for a while, grab a cup of coffee, take a sip, look up at the clear, blue sky, breathe in the sweet smell of freshly cut grass, nod to themselves, set a pad of paper in front of them, hold a pen and pause before writing.

They get up, take a walk around the house, put dishes away, pick up toys in the den, go back to the kitchen table and stare at the blank paper in front of them. They sigh when they realize the lateness of the hour, asking themselves the worth of responding. Some answers need time before letting themselves known. Some know questions need answering right away.

As children grow up, they look to adults to take care of them, including feeding their imagination. When storytelling time begins, what do you tell them today? What do you want them to hear tomorrow? I know what I’d tell them. There once was a beautiful princess from the magical woods of north Alabama. How beautiful was she? Oh, her beauty blinded you – her golden curls shone with the light of every sunrise known to man and animal, her eyes reflected the light of every star that shone in the night sky and her smile beamed with the glow of every full moon that will visit Earth each month from now until eternity. The princess spent her days brushing her long hair, reading books and feeding the woodland creatures who greeted her at the doorway to her cottage. I’m sorry, what did you say? Her name? Did I not tell you her name? Well, if I didn’t, that’s because speaking her name will invoke magic. When you say her name, you break into a smile, your sickness goes away, your friends all like you, the evil creatures run away as far as they can and hide because they don’t know what true love is, and your brother or sister stop pestering you. With all that, do you still want to know her name? Okay, here goes but you better brace yourself in case the Earth shakes with joy and the sky rumbles with happiness at the sound of such a pure name. Ready? Her name is Princess Azure Aquamarine Bella-acqua Butterfly Crystal.

There, don’t you feel better already. I sure do! Well, anyway, one day the princess woke up, washed her face and looked in the mirror. She felt wonderful but her reflection looked back at her with a sad face. Why was she sad? She was sad because she wanted the person looking at her reflection in the mirror to have a prince looking at her, too. And she told the princess as much. “Dear Princess, every morning you smile at me and make me glad to show your smile back at you. But oh, how your smile would light the universe if only you had a prince to share the smile when I’m not around!” The princess nodded her head, understanding deep in her heart that what the mirror said was true. The princess, happy as she was, with little creatures to play with and book learning to do, knew that a prince in the house would make her magical world the most wonderful place in all the universe. With a princess like that, what kind of prince would she have? Can you describe him? Oh yes, he’d be tall, taller than any prince, indeed. Strong? Absolutely. And if she had a prince, what wonderful magic would they give the world? Let’s save that adventure until tomorrow so you can think about it a little while.

Children love stories, don’t they? My niece at 14 still loves to tell ghost stories so I write her a ghost story every now and then. I also ask her to write me a ghost story. We learn from each other just as you learn from your children.

May you find amazement in all the accomplishments of your offspring, whether receiving a five-foot tall trophy from school for top academic honors, putting things away at home without being told or getting their first girlfriend or boyfriend. I hope the enthusiasm I saw and heard from you on Saturday continues forever.

As adults, we see that all we know, or thought we knew, changes. Including us. As you and your children change, I see you all change for the better.

Not too long ago, a young woman (about 10 years older than her oldest child right now) started working for ADS. My heart fills with gladness to see where she is today. I thank her God for the friends, family and coworkers who have provided her comfort in the times of need, laughter in times of joy, fulfillment in times of learning and hope in times of uncertainty. Although her future remains unclear, her prospects for the future show promise.

6/5/2008 8:52 AM

The Temptation of Technology

During my quest for simplification, I run into technology trends that fascinate me.  I may live in a large cabin in the woods, with several hundred acres of woods behind me that I hope will survive human expansion, but I have yet to fully suppress the desire for flashy, snazzy, shiny new things, even if I know that buying them leads to people building more factories and paving more roads to deliver these goods.  The promise of “natural” computer input devices remains my Achilles heel.  Even when I’ve mentally tagged all of my readily-available discretionary spending for low-impact living, I’ll find a few dollars to spend on a new type of graphics tablet or handheld computer mouse.

A few months ago, I saw an article about the Livescribe Pulse, a not-so-regular ink pen that doubles as a handheld computer, with the natural input device portion of the computer coming from an infrared camera that records ink strokes at 70 times a second.  Absolutely fascinating!  Many bloggers have raved about the pen so I won’t go into detail about its many promising features.

Instead, let me tell you about owning a Pulse.  The ergonomic design of the pen allows easy penmanship, with a metal body as large as a Mont Blanc or Waterman style writing instrument, giving me the comfortable writing grip I enjoy as an adult writer (and likely picked up as a child when I learned to use a large #2 pencil).  Aesthetically, the curved slope to the tip where the infrared camera points toward the paper looks like the pen carries an ink cartridge.  The analog resemblances end there.  On one side of the pen, a small OLED display serves as the computer feedback device and shows the user menu, with choices for status (time, date, battery, and memory available), playback/recording of audio, and some demo apps such as piano, movies and language translation.  On the same side, the on-off switch, built-in microphones and speaker face the writer.  On the “back” side resides a four-pin connector for USB interface to another computer (you know, those ancient kinds of computers still based around the standardized typewriter).  On the end of the pen, the earplugs/binaural microphone headset plugs in.  When I ordered the Pulse for my birthday present, I added accessories, including a set of journals (similar in design to the moleskine journal) and extra pen cartridges.

Enough about the specifications!  Now, I learn new habits, writing in a journal with a portable audio recorder, knowing that I can record audio sessions at any time and later download the audio/text to a computer.  So far, I have recorded sessions at a company picnic, in my mother in-law’s house, in an airport terminal, in flight on an airplane and in a hotel room.  If you’ve ever experimented with binaural microphones, then you know the thrill of playing back binaural recordings, the original “surround sound.”  For the rest of you, using the Pulse will add new sensations to an already eclectic existence.

Every day or so, I read the forum at the Livescribe website to see what other users have found.  For college students, the pen appears to enhance studying class notes.  For business users, the pen appears to aid notetaking during meetings.

For me, the pen fulfills one of my lifelong wishes, a truly natural input device for a handheld PC.  Now, if I can just find one with a rollout e-ink display, built-in OCR, hi-res digital pen camera and wireless access, I’d have all I need for writing about life around me.  I could capture my handwriting (including notes to myself; letters, emails and IMs to friends; business correspondence; drawings; doodles), snap audiovisual snippets, listen to tunes/podcasts at my convenience, search the Web, and do whatever else I use a handheld / laptop / notebook / desktop computer for today.

Do I enjoy the convenience of a computer keyboard?  Sure.  But can its result of displaying uniform typewritten text match the warmth and comfort I feel while seeing my handwriting and noticing the idiosyncracies of my personality reflected in the loops, swoops and slashes?  No.  Here — take my Pulse and you’ll feel the increased heartbeats yourself.  I can resist anything but the temptation of technology.

Now if I can just figure out an easy way to convert my Pulse writing into blog entries.  Time saved is a minute earned!

6/5/2008 6:41 AM

I AM A MAN

Earlier this week, I stood in line at a local grocery store (sorry, I mean SUPERSTORE), waiting to pay for a beach umbrella and beach chair so my 90-year old mother in-law could enjoy sitting on the Atlantic Ocean coast with her family.  I mentioned as much to the cashier.  She pouted sympathic lips at me and then started a conversation.

“Aww-w-w, isn’t that sweet of you.”  She looked me up and down, running her eyes over my sunburned face and hairy chest where my shirt hung open.  “I bet you’re a tourist.”

I nodded while I pulled money out of my wallet.  “Sort of.  I’m here to see a rocket launch so it’s a working vacation, in a way.”

As I handed her thirty dollars, our hands brushed against each other.  The cashier looked me in the eye, a quiet rage suddenly swelling up in her young, middle twenty-something aged, thin, blonde-haired framed face.  “You know what your problem is?”

I shook my head.

“You’re a man.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you know what your other problem is?”

“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“You’re still a man.  That means you’re missing out!”

Still half asleep after eating a big lunch, I suppressed a yawn and gauged the sincerity of the cashier, her green tag proclaiming its owner’s name as “Shirley! J”  Missing out on what, I wondered.  Friendly banter with someone half my age while my extended family stood in the hot, afternoon sun, impatiently waiting for my return?  Yes, I am a man, multifaceted, multitalented, and focused on my priorities.  I nodded and smiled as I walked past Shirley.  We all have our moments.  “Have a good day!” I called out, striding heavily toward the exit.

6/5/2008 5:49 AM

A little perspective

Cardinals and chickadees munch on the bird seed in the backyard feeders while a raccoon leans back on its haunches to catch a few uneaten seeds flung willy-nilly into the air by birds’ beaks.  The gentle roar of an artificial waterfall I built a few years ago calls out to the wildlife after the pond filled up from the day’s rainfall.  The long fingers of a late spring breeze play with tree limbs, shaking drops of water onto snails flowing across last fall’s leaves.

A couple of evenings ago, I sat in bed, too far from my moleskine journal to want to disturb the cats in my lap and thus stuck with a set of small Post-It notes to record words while reading, “The Crack Up,” by F. Scott Fitzgerald.  Now, sitting in the sunroom (an enclosed back porch, if you will) in the near-dark as 8 p.m. approaches, I squint to read the notes I wrote while remembering the perspective of history I thought to capture…

=====

Huntsville Escape Pod

In the first years of our living in Big Cove,
we would putter along Governors Drive out of the city,
past the last traffic light at California Street,
twisting up through the subdivisions on the eastern slope of Monte Sano,
and coast over the top of the mountain;
breathe in the cool, valley air,
and watch meteors write silent messages to us in the starlit sky.
Ten minutes later, we’d pull into the driveway,
refreshed and relaxed in our wooden cabin at the foot of Little Mountain.

=====

Vivid dreams last night, due in large part to muse-like effect from receipt of friend’s email — FLASHES of scenes/conversations for my next book with new title, “The Mind’s Aye.”  Novel will include scenes converted from emails to/from folks at RF wireless company; Andrew Hale; Sherry; blog entries; essay by F. Scott Fitzgerald; Epictetus; Ghosts of Colonial Heights.  Printed version of book to include 3D pullouts (i.e., paper engineering); embedded video in online edition.

Bathroom reading right now ==> “Cannery Row” and “Of Mice and Men” by John Steinbeck.

=====

Couldn’t sleep the other night.  At 2:22 a.m., I heard the raccoons on the front deck and made me think about the window screen (from one of our living room windows) that I found out in the yard with an old carpet cutting knife next to it.  Perhaps a raccoon could have gotten stuck on the window screen and pulled the screen off the window frame and then the window screen might have flipped over the front deck into the yard.  But the carpet knife?  Conveniently, our neighbor who sells security systems also happened to bump into me within a day or two.  Life is full of coincidences.  Hmm…

Before I sat down to write, I fed the cats.  I also got a drink of water.  While I stood in the kitchen, I watched the shadow of a raccoon walk by the pond.  Funny to watch shadows move along the ground like water flowing over rocks.

But the main reason I decided to get out of bed in the middle of the night — to wonder on paper about my feelings of guilt and why I worry.

Guilt and worry.  What do those words mean?  For instance, why am I trained to see the blinking light on the wireless router right now and feel a sense of vulnerability, worried that someone knows the security settings and uses the router without my permission?  Why should I care if someone surfs the Web for free?

Also, why do I feel guilty for using the Earth for something other than basic necessities?  So what if my actions place me with those who destroy the environment?  Remind myself:  the universe constantly changes so all this fuss about global warming would disappear with one big volcanic eruption or comet impact.

I wonder if raccoons sleep on our house at night?  I’ve found their scat on the house shingles while playing gutter cleaner and roof repairer.  They seem to have a good high fiber diet.

At 4:26 a.m., I couldn’t sleep but definitely felt groggy.  The next day, even though I had dozed for a few hours, I felt a bit vocabulary/grammar challenged, a usual sign of sleep deprivation.

============================

Earlier today, I ate lunch with Andrew Hale and Terry Powers, at one time solely work colleagues and now friends.  We talked about other work colleagues and the personality traits we’d observed in action over the years, including those at ADS and Cumulo-Seven.  How we interpret a work colleague’s business decisions depends on whether the decisions directly affected our employment and job advancement.  The perspective of history applies to personal and business relationships as well as the rise and fall of political entities.

Afterward, I drove to the Madison County Courthouse in downtown Huntsville in order to pay the annual license fees for the automobiles in our possessions (four as of today).  While walking from the parking lot to the courthouse, I saw Margaret Ann Goldsmith leaning against the Schiffmann building and talking on a cell phone.  She repeated a phrase into the phone, “Well, I think they just ate gasoline,” as if the caller couldn’t understand.  I pictured a cow looking down at a gas tank and thinking of a water trough, biting into and chewing up the metal and liquid without thinking about what the cow consumed.  I smiled to myself at the image, waved at Margaret Ann and called out, “Hey, Margaret Ann,” walking on as she smiled and waved back, all the while wondering what kind of gas-guzzling vehicle she and the caller had discussed on the phone.

I stopped by the Huntsville-Madison County Public Library and checked out two Fitzgerald short story collections to read next week.  Fun to go back and read literature of the previous generation, showing me that the advance of civilization, although awe-inspiring technologically, still depends on the written language, with vocabulary changes flowing with the ebb and tide of social whims.

I have lived in the time when my primary language served as the language of international business — how does that affect one’s thinking?  Should I feel lucky or deprived?

Finally, I mailed a couple of packages to friends and family, including birthday presents and copies of my novels, and drove home to take a nap in the sunny afternoon of an otherwise rainy day.

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Tonight’s quote from a writer no longer with us, who observed his society with a keen eye in essays like, “Echoes of the Jazz Age” and will provide a little perspective from the grave:

“When the police rode down the demobilized country boys gaping at the orators in Madison Square, it was the sort of measure bound to alienate the more intelligent young men from the prevailing order. We didn’t remember anything about the Bill of Rights until Mencken began plugging it, but we did know that such tyranny belonged in the jittery little coun­tries of South Europe. If goose-livered business men had this effect on the government, then maybe we had gone to war for J. P. Morgan’s loans after all. But, because we were tired of Great Causes, there was no more than a short outbreak of moral indignation, typified by Dos Passos’ Three Soldiers. Presently we began to have slices of the national cake and our idealism only flared up when the newspapers made melodrama out of such stories as Harding and the Ohio Gang or Sacco and Vanzetti. The events of 1919 left us cynical rather than revolutionary, in spite of the fact that now we are all rummaging around in our trunks wondering where in hell we left the liberty cap—”I know I had it”— and the moujik blouse. It was characteristic of the Jazz Age that it had no interest in politics at all.

“It was an age of miracles, it was an age of art, it was an age of excess, and it was an age of satire.”

from: http://fitzgerald.narod.ru/crackup/056e-eho.htm, accessed 27 may 2008

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THE MORAL OF THIS BLOG ENTRY: The more things change, the more we look plain uninspired compared to the previous generation.

5/28/2008 9:25 PM

The Benefits of a Society

Yesterday, the town of Huntsville hosted the 2008 Cotton Row Run, an event that includes three road courses for runners of varying abilities to complete a 10 km, 5 km and/or 1-mile fun run.  My wife and I walked along the course for the 5 km runners, hoping to see our future nephew in-law as well as friends of ours we’ve met through work or other running events.

For a long time, we stood on the corner of Monroe and Holmes because the runners passed by the intersection twice.  At that same corner, after marching from Fayetteville, TN “32 miles without halting,” Andrew Jackson camped with his soldiers on 11th October 1813 on the way to the Battle of Horseshoe Bend.

As we cheered on the runners, we noticed that although the race benefited the Huntsville Police Fallen Officers’ Memorial, we didn’t see one runner thank the police officers.  Of course, police officers perform a normally thankless duty to “protect and serve” the general populace but we thought someone running the course would thank an officer and perhaps some of them did, just not in front of us.

To show our appreciation for the folks whose jobs provide benefits to the rest of us in society by keeping crime in check, we have posted a video on YouTube to honor the ones who died in the line of duty (you can see members of the police academy running in formation throughout the video):

I understand that to enjoy a peaceful existence, a group of paid armed citizens (in the form of armies, navies, border/coast guards, police, etc.) protect my right to avoid violent confrontations in daily life.  At the same time, I understand that politicians will take advantage of the ready availability of these armed citizens in order to promote personal political agendas, including the financing of their own or friends’ companies which profit from the engagement of war.  However, I do not place blame on the politicians for the loss of life of the individually paid armed citizens when used to fight battles overseas or control street fights.  Nor do I blame the group these armed citizens belong to when some of them commit an act of crime under the protection of their uniforms.  In other words, regardless of my wishes for a peaceful society, I know humans will find ways to show their innate characteristics.

On Memorial Day, I gladly say I joined the citizens of Huntsville and the surrounding area to pay tribute to the two million people who have died in the name of a political entity, a country called the United States of America, as well as the fallen police officers of Huntsville.  As they died, their actions joined the great triumphs and atrocities associated with the name of the United States in history books.

All humans find their names placed next to the deeds of one country or another.  We must remember that the concept of a country should not take precedence over our acceptance of fellow humans.  All of us live on this planet and have the personal responsibility to help each other preserve our species:

• Let us avoid getting drawn in to the agendas of our politicians at the cost of long-term species survival.  Don’t promote party slogans or other popular simple messages without asking yourself what they mean first.
• Let us remember the people who died in the name of their country, regardless of the country (and its reputation) assigned to their names.  Many people decree the revision of history.  For instance, Andrew Jackson thought of himself as a man of the people — his popularity among U.S. citizens reflects agreement with his view — would the native Americans agree?  People on both sides of a battle line perform heroic deeds — only the declared victor decides which set of deeds earn the name “heroic” or “savage.”
• And finally, let us find a way to teach this understanding to the stated enemies of our country so that we break the barrier of ignorance that flames the fear and hatred of one another.  What better way to memorialize our fallen citizens than to reduce the number of people we call enemies!

 

5/27/2008 12:16 PM

Simple Thoughts

I claim no special insight through the brain synapses of mine.  I think and write about my thinking, much of which reflects the zeitgeist, popular culture, mainstream thought patterns of the day.

I ordered, autographed and distributed 13 copies of “Are You With The Program?”

I continue to work “not,” “never,” “it” and forms of “to be” out of my regular vocabulary.  I will use them for effect or out of plain forgetfulness.

Forty-six years of my life have passed.  The number gives me the feeling of wisdom for now I have stepped well into the second half of my life, ready to apply the lessons learned in the first half.  Acceptance of multiculturalism remains a recurring theme of mine, especially the folklore of others.

Excessive prosperity will cause an acceleration of the deterioration of a sustainable environment.  How does a democratic republic (or representative democracy) like the United States survive in these conditions?  The next generation will learn to balance these issues in order to survive, only if we lay the foundation for moderate living that makes believers out of our children and their peers.

Our economy thrives on growth and newness, riding the recent wave of “green” thinking and “green” product sales (same as the trend in the 1970s during high interest rate and high fuel cost).  Only the shock of extremely high food costs, including high transportation costs (i.e., fuel), will force the permanent adoption of new ways of “green” living for the masses (and unfortunately, the expanded width of the line separating the rich and the poor).

How do I fit a mode of survival into this changing world?

Use the secret of artistic success, perhaps — find 1000 people willing to pay to read/hear my visions in the form of fiction or book-length blogs…or not!  Instead, how about turning others on to lower means of living so they, too, can enjoy the simple pleasures of life instead of chasing after the complicated, convoluted, conspicuous style of living perpetuated by our 24/7 mass media (including the noise we generate via emails, cell phone calls, text messages and IM chats (and need I say blogs))?

How do I share the joy of listening to your own voice (i.e., stream of consciousness) versus the current trend of shouting in unison to be heard by others that counts for a personal expression of belief (i.e., mass text messages sent to vote for a television show contest like Eurovision or American Idol)?  How do I practice what I preach and still get my message across to those who seek or need to know?

Contemplation and patience will tell me… time to meditate on the answer…

[Sit, chew gum and stare at the ceiling for a few minutes, blinking eyes to keep them wet; sip some tea; scratch face]

The answer: one at a time.

Those who seek will find me or the message I wish to share.  I have no need to shove my thoughts down the minds of the simply curious, the undirected, misguided or gullible (that is, the type of people who usually help an author, actor or musician enjoy a highly profitable living).

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Finished reading, “A Moment On The Edge: 100 Years of Crime Stories by Women” — fun collection of stories, especially for $1 at Unclaimed Baggage.  I bought the book a few years ago and placed in the “to read in the future” stack.  [My constant companion, Time, found the book for me and told me to start reading.]  I enjoyed the variety of crimes, not all of them murders.  The main characters fascinated me, especially when they acted more like the truly curious rather than the professional crime solver.  I read the typical crime novels of my youth — Sherlock Holmes, the Hardy Boys and the like — but stopped reading those types in high school.  I’ve only watched two or three episodes of television crime shows like “CSI” because they wrap up cases too neatly for me.  However, “A Moment On The Edge” held my attention because of the various viewpoints presented, including the minds of perpetrators of minor crimes.

Pulled an old paperback book out of my library earlier this week, a modern anthology of Emerson from 1958.  I read a few pages and put the book down — too much like my style of thinking — some nights I can read Emerson, and some nights I just plain think like him (but know better than to claim his level of intelligence).  I then pulled out a book of essays from 1948 titled, “forms of modern fiction,” with examinations of fiction by James Joyce, Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, William Faulkner, the Brontes, E.M. Forster, Aldous Huxley and Virginia Woolf.  Always interesting to read the views of others (including Robert Penn Warren, T.S. Eliot and Lionel Trilling), regardless of their personal fame in the realm of popular writing.  Jumped from that into the current book by my bedside, “the crack up” by F. Scott Fitzgerald, a book that reminds me to keep from pickling my brain too much when friends invite me out to enjoy a bottle of beer or glass of whiskey as I hand them autographed copies of my books.  I may never reach Fitz’s height of fame and fortune, but if I do I want to slide down the backside of the peak with fun and revelry, not bittersweet nostalgia.

5/23/2008 8:26 PM

Simple Pleasures

• The sweet smell of blooming privet, an invasive plant here in north Alabama, wafting through the open window on this warm May day.
• The rumbling of an approaching thunder cloud (and the warbling of the NOAA weather radio beside me warning of a severe thunderstorm).
• Light shafts dancing around on the mulberry bush and vinca ground cover.
• Moths bouncing against the window screen.
• The itching on my hip where a tick, which probably had hitched a ride while I filled bird feeders yesterday, had crawled up my leg, sunk in its teeth and died, its dead carcass pulled off my body after showering this morning.
• Internet citizens voicing their opinions in online forums and blogs.
• My oldest nephew celebrating his 24th birthday today.
• My high school and college friend’s daughter celebrating her 18th birthday yesterday.
• The cracking of ice in my drink cup.
• The heat of the laptop PC easing the pain of my runners’ knees (a curative side effect of working on the laptop while sitting up in bed).
• Breathing through my nose and not experiencing allergies.
• Seeing the digits of a small LED clock across the room, thanks to LASIK surgery.
• Hearing anything above the din of tinnitus.

 

5/20/2008 2:13 PM

Family History

To give yourself perspective as you prepare to make a decision in the moment, research your family history — inevitably, ancestors made better and worse decisions than the one you will make in the next few minutes.  Therefore, with family history as a guide, you can prevent the personal habit of looking back and comparing a previous decision of yours just against your own life, telling yourself that only your descendants will know if you made the right decision, leaving you precious time to think about what you will do next.

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In the wee hours of Sunday, 11th May, in my parent’s home in the suburbs of Kingsport, Tennessee, I sat in a rocking chair my mother had used to rock me to sleep when I was an infant.  I spent a few hours recording in my moleskine journal the family history my father had shared with me as we spent time together on Saturday.

About growing up on Black Oak Ridge in Fountain City, TN, with his grandparents, same house his mother grew up in.  A large part of property on Black Oak Ridge owned by a freedman in late 1800s.  Part of freedman’s land purchased by Dad’s great-grandparents in early 1900s.

Grandparents married in 1910.  Dresser with mirror in my parents’ dining room served as part of wedding dowry.  Dad’s grandmother died while he, who took the train to work at Tennessee Theater (and usually walked home), was met by his two aunts at the theater so Dad knew the news they had.  His grandfather died in a nursing care facility during my youth.  Dad recalled where both his grandparents had laid in bed during their last days in their house.  He drew up floor plans of the two-story house.  I recall the old linoleum peeling up in the kitchen, faded wall covering in the front room (the wall dividing the front room into a bedroom and parlor long ago removed to accommodate a hospital bed), stairs to the second floor and a dark closet in the back of the second story with just a sheet over the door, giving a eery feeling to the upstairs.

My father’s grandfather (my great-grandfather) worked as a tinsmith/sheet metal worker for the Southern Railway because he left school in the sixth grade to help support family (his father had worked as a blacksmith).  He used college-level math and trigonometric shortcuts to design and build parts for his job.  He also built the house on Black Oak Ridge, one story at a time.  The floor sloped down in places where he had extended the width of the house.

Dad’s mother and uncle used to haul water up the hill from a spring until they got regular running water at the house.  Dad used to play at the spring and creek with his friends Philip and George Bradfute.  One time they saw a water moccasin and hightailed it up the hill back to the house as if the snake could chase and catch them.

The scary room I remembered as a child had no fearful connotation to my father.  His grandfather developed black and white film from Brownie cameras in that room, considered an upstairs closet.  A tape job held together one of the family Brownies — family lore said that the camera had rolled all the way down House Mountain.

My great-grandfather owned only one car in his life, a Model T in the 1920s.  His wife had earned a reputation as a speedy driver of the car, started back when she had ridden a fast horse (the horse had racing blood and would outrun horse-and-buggy riders if passed).  The family used to ride the car up to Monte LeConte long before the Great Smoky Mountains National Park existed.  Mechanical brakes did not work well on the car so reverse was used to slow down the car.  On the way down the mountain one time, they couldn’t stop the car when a cow stepped out onto the road so they hit and killed the cow (and of course, damaged the car).  They located the farmer — he didn’t blame them or ask for compensation because the cow had stepped in front of them, not the other way around.

Harris and Pope are family names on the Eldridge side of my family (Eldridge is paternal grandmother’s name; Capps is paternal BIOLOGICAL grandfather’s name (and not one to discuss with my father since Papa Capps abandoned my father and his mother) — my father changed his name to Colline after his mother remarried).

Grandma Harris attended Halewood School.  One of the stories she told related how some boys at school came from the French side of Switzerland (a town called Tunn?).  American school boys taught the Swiss boys how to say “I love you” to American girls and then laughed when the Swiss boys said the phrase to the American girls (probably thinking they were saying “Hello”).  Very funny.

The Harrises owned property where Maryville College now sits.  Supposedly a sign on the school campus attests to that fact.

Dad delivered newspapers as a kid.  Dad has told me about some of his famous customers in emails through the years.  I will pull those together for a later blog entry.

My great-grandfather kept a string of dried hot peppers on the back porch and would eat them to settle an upset stomach.  In his later years, he sat in the front room of the house to watch television.  A set of condos sits where that house stood — a result of my grandmother and great-uncle selling the property to a developer, teaching me that money has more importance than land held by two generations of family members, signs, too, that my family has always migrated to new/better land.

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As Dad told me these stories, I set up his new Dell Inspiron 531 PC (including a trip to the local Wal-Mart for supplies).  After the PC setup completed, Dad showed me the website of the online class he teaches for ETSU in his role as Professor Colline.  Part of this past semester’s coursework included students preparing a PowerPoint presentation about conducting business in specific countries.

We ate Mom’s homemade kringle for breakfast, ham sandwiches for lunch and grilled polska kielbasa for dinner.  I shared photos/video from my Canon SD1000 camera plugged into the family room TV, telling some of the stories about the city clerk from Scottsboro whose daughter owns the Blue Willow cafe.  If you ever want to hear some pre-WWII stories about life in rural north Alabama, stop at the Blue Willow cafe on a Saturday for lunch.  You’ll hear doozies about barnstormers, socialites and old maids that’ll make you smile from ear to ear.  Don’t forget to take home some bourbon butter, too.  In fact, I have a slab of that butter in my fridge and may just eat some later this afternoon.

At 3 a.m., I pushed myself out of the rocker and put the journal away so I could catch some sleep before getting up in a few hours to attend Pentecost services at my hometown religious gathering place of Colonial Heights Presbyterian Church for Mother’s Day.  During the services, long-ago memories welled up while we watched a children’s choir sing where I, too, had sung such songs about 35 years ago!  Hard to believe that a year or two later I would meet my future wife during one of the sessions of summer camp at Holston Presbytery Camp in Banner Elk, NC.

=====

A poem I wrote a long time ago (and subsequently lost) ended something like this:

“The plans we make, the jokes we tell in haste,
Perspective bears their worthiness or waste.”

5/20/2008 11:45 AM

Fly-In at Word Field, Scottsboro, AL 9th May 2008

On Friday, 9th May 2008, my wife and I sat quietly eating roast beast sandwiches at Arby’s in Scottsboro, Alabama (home of Unclaimed Baggage) on our way to east Tennessee for Mother’s Day.
A rumbling in the sky caught my attention. Lo and behold, a formation of what looked like WWII era planes flew overhead. I ran out to the car, grabbed my Canon SD1000, shooting photos and video as quick as I could, dodging vehicles in the parking lot.
At the advice of some Scottsboro residents in Arby’s, we drove over to Word Field and saw the planes land. I shot more video.
After the planes landed, my wife and I drove over to the tarmac and looked more closely at the planes.
Video/photos now (or soon to be) available in YouTube video:

5/17/2008 4:41 PM

Blow, Wind, Blow

Where else can you find a popular author/retired NASA engineer and an astronaut hanging out in an abandoned limestone cave on a Friday night to hear country music, progressive bluegrass and blues?  Why, the 3rd Annual Spring Concert at Three Caves, of course.

Last night, my wife and I piled into a school bus with a bunch of other middle-aged folks at one of the Huntsville Hospital parking lots and climbed Monte Sano to the entrance of the Three Caves.  As we walked the gravel path from the road back to the caves, lined on both sides by lit citronella torches, we gladly noted that not everyone had white, gray or silver hair and thus the average age dropped somewhat due to a few couples in their 20s and 30s (along with kids dragged along for the event) but mainly the crowd gathering at the main area of the limestone quarry had long since retired from active work in the high tech industry town of Huntsville.

As we adjusted our folding chairs emblazoned with the University of Tennessee colors and logos, I looked up to see Homer Hickam, author of “Rocket Boys” (aka the anagrammed movie title, “October Sky”), making friendly conversation with one of the hometown astronauts, Jan Davis (a more mature version of the bio pic at the link to her career bio page), who just happened to have met her current husband at the same Three Caves event two years ago.

I heard a person behind me discuss a book she was reading that had two aliens in it.  Yes, can’t avoid the scifi readers and writers around here.

Ran into an old UT college mate of mine, David Young, who’d brought his 14-year old son along for the concert.  David uses his UTK GIS master’s degree training and job at Intergraph to hone his skills in making Google Earth maps of the Huntsville Land trust property.

Three Caves, in case you’ve missed a visit, started out as a limestone quarry feeding much of the stone used to pave old Huntsville streets, old the operative word here, the quarry abandoned for about 60 years now.  The quarry “caves” exist because of the pillar mining style used to remove the rock, which includes six acres under roof.

The Huntsville Land Trust received benefit of funding because of the evening concert so some of the organization’s leaders took the stage to tell about progress in acquisition of land tracts.  Rather than detail the acquisitions here, go to their website for more information.

The first performer of the evening, Jay Clark, grew up the son of a Cumberland Presbyterian minister.  His wife, Stacy, missed the concert to attend to her mother and Jay’s father was away to take care of a wedding rehearsal but his mother made the trip.  Jay described his style as “slit your wrist, country music drinking songs” and his performance clearly reflected that description, especially the first song, currently untitled and written by his wife, detailing the life of an alcoholic waking up in the morning, dead drunk on the floor.  Not too far off the sad sentiments of an Alison Krauss tune.

The other songs he performed, including, “Regurgitate,” “Following Reflectors,” “Going Home, “Redbird,” “Jesus Loves Dogs, Too,” “Progress,” and “Coal Miner,” continued the theme of country living in the South (you can listen to some of them here).  The song, “Progress,” touched my wife and me the most — we, too, wish that rich home builders would respect the rights of the community at large to enjoy the unspoiled view of mountain landscapes without having to see clearcut swaths where mountain mansions sit.

Jay surprised me (and others, I’m sure) when he revealed during autobiographical sketches between songs that he had a PhD in wildlife ecology.  During Robinella’s set, we learned that not only does Jay hunt deer, he field dresses and prepares his own deer meat (she cracked a joke that Jay was tenderizing the venison for breakfast yesterday morning while other band members woke up and said, “Hope I didn’t wake everyone up while I’ve been banging my meat all morning.”).  After the show, I bought a beer coozy with the phrase, “when I get to drinkin” on it and got Jay’s autograph on the camo background of the coozy.

The headliner, Robinella, grew up in Maryville, TN (my mother’s hometown), and like Jay (as well as my father, mother, sister and me), attended the University of Tennessee-Knoxville.

From the sound snippets on Robinella’s website, I expected to hear bluegrass or college folk song.  Instead, the first number that her band performed, “Everything Happens to Me,” fell into the blues category.  I could hear Ella Fitzgerald with an east TN twang when I closed my eyes to listen.

The next song, “Down The Mountain,” a western ditty, demonstrated the band’s versatility and reminded me of the concert I heard a year or two ago by Claire Lynch and her new-formed band at the Burritt Museum gazebo.  Both Claire and Robinella should try yodeling.

Other songs by Robinella changed in style from Memphis blues to light and airy (one tune reminded me of the old song, “Baubles, Bangles and Beads,” not too far off my favorite version by Deodato (and to my surprise, originally from the musical, “Kismet,” and even then a knockoff of Borodin’s String Quartet No. 2 in D Major, according to wikipedia)).

Other songs included, “Left, Right Back Together With You,” “I Don’t Love You Anymore,” “Cucavano(sp?)” [a takeoff on Quart of Vodka], “Georgia On My Mind,” and “Press On”.  She sang duets with Jay of “Constant Reminder,” “You’re the Reason God Made Oklahoma,” and “Bright Morning Star.”  Her band returned on stage and performed “Listen To The Radio,” a freestyle version of “Freebird,” “Amazing Grace,” a Merle Haggard tune I didn’t recognize and finished with some song I couldn’t hear because I had to run to the port-o-potty to relieve myself of some of the two Thai teas for dinner at the Thai Garden and 2005 Earth, Zin and Fire red zinfadel I’d drunk earlier in the evening.

Appropriately enough, during the singing of “Bright Morning Star,” the moon rose over the edge of the southeastern quarry walls, dimming the constellation of Ursa Major that hung overhead when early evening clouds had cleared.

After the concert, we wandered over to the sales booth and chatted briefly with Jay and Robinella.  Jay signed the coozie I bought and Robinella signed my Moleskine journal, commenting that she had one like mine and used hers to write notes during her minister’s sermons.  Thus, her autograph says, “Try the Sermons, Robinella, 3 Caves 2008”.  When Robinella told my wife that she was from Maryville, and we laughed, Robinella responded, “Oh, you can tell by my accent?”  My wife shook her head and explained that we laughed because Robinella misspoke — the word is pronounced, moor-uh-vuhl.  Robinella agreed.

Jay reminded us to catch him at Flying Monkey Arts on 1st June 2008.  I think we’ll pay more attention to the launch of GLAST, the Gamma-ray Large Area Space Telescope that my deceased brother in-law worked on, and would most likely miss Jay’s next concert in Huntsville.  Guess I’ll have to buy his CDs off his website if I want one anytime soon.

As we stepped in line with other folks to catch the bus back to the parking lot, I met the couple in front of us, Amy and her husband, the Reluctant Running Man.  Reluctant Running Man will attempt the Cotton Row Run 5K this year.  I told him about my adventures in running, including the Rocket City Marathon and previous Cotton Row Run 10K events, encouraging him to focus on training for the 5K race.  I found out that Amy teaches drama at Butler High School and knows a former work colleague of mine, Sheila Roby, a former math teacher at Butler and now a math specialist for the school system.

On the bus, Jan Davis and her husband sat behind me.  Rather than bother her with the “Wow, you’re an astronaut!” stuff, I simply congratulated her on her second first date anniversary with her husband.

Why the title of this blog entry?  Because the breeze from the Three Caves does blow slightly cool across the players and listeners, even spooking a bat or two out at times.  Especially on an unseasonably cool evening in May.

Posted by Bruce at 5/17/2008 2:26 PM

Voluntary Simplicity

I have collected books on voluntary simplicity over the years.  I will catalog them in another blog entry.  Today I saw an article in the New York Times (via Google news article on voting habits of Appalachian residents) that talked about the newest push for voluntary simplicity due to the rising cost of fuel and food:

Chasing Utopia, Family Imagines No Possessions

By RALPH BLUMENTHAL and RACHEL MOSTELLER

Published: May 17, 2008

Aimee and Jeff Harris of Austin, Tex., are donating virtually all their possessions to charity and hope to end up as organic homesteaders in Vermont.
How many people stick with this lifestyle long-term?  I wonder.  Many of the books I’ve read on the subject contained interviews with new transplants but rarely with folks who’ve lived the life of simplicity for very long (example: Choosing Simplicity: Real People Finding Peace and Fulfillment in a Complex World).

Does it make sense to live a frugal life for a while first to ensure you find happiness living with less before giving up the daily habits you’ve established over many years?  Or is it like quitting smoking, where going cold turkey is better for some than others and thus requires individuals tailoring their lifestyle shift to their personality types, with some doing better with a gradual shift to a simple life?

I have yet to read the highly-touted, “Your Money or Your Life,” but probably followed some of their nine guidelines in it, nonetheless.  I guess I can jump over to the authors’ website, http://www.yourmoneyoryourlife.org/, and see…  Yep, pretty much done it all and started the habit in my career in my 20s in the 1980s, too.

Number one rule my wife and I followed from the beginning: PAY YOURSELF FIRST!  If you put money away for retirement (and lots of it), then you can create a manageable budget to live on with what’s left, instead of using all your income to pay off loans for consumer items that instant gratification stuck you with because you felt you had to do something with all your money (including a big house, big car, big vacations, big gifts for children, etc.).

Simplicity at the outset of your career guarantees an early exit from the workplace so you can focus on the simple pleasures of life.

5/17/2008 12:07 PM

R.I.P. Nuala O’Faolain

NYTimes: Nuala O’Faolain, 68, Irish Memoirist, Is Dead

Nuala O’Faolain, 68, Irish Memoirist, Is
Dead

 

By WILLIAM GRIMES

Published: May 11, 2008

Often seen as a feminine (and feminist) counterpart
to Frank McCourt’s “Angela’s Ashes,” Ms. O’Faolain’s “Are You Somebody?,” (1996) created a sensation.
Although my Irish heritage carries me through Ireland during a brief multigenerational stop en route from England to Scotland to America and thus not truly Irish (i.e., “Scots-Irish” or “Ulster Scots”), I relate sympathetically to the tales of woe of the Irish.

Storytellers like Nuala O’Faolain give us rich first-person views of growing up in deprived/depraved homes, making me appreciate my good life.

I lift a glass of Redbreast Irish whiskey to honor a fellow writer [clink!].

5/13/2008 11:07 AM

A Higher Level of Consciousness

Have I ever lived on my own?  That is, by myself, without another person providing a direct source of money to fund my daily living?

Perhaps this question’s answer lies in my reasons for seeking a higher level of consciousness, where I would sit in a domicile and expect the only human interactions of the day to come from my thoughts, similar in some ways to the age-old atavistic urge to return to a simpler way of living that many imagine took place with our distant ancestors.  A higher level of consciousness piled on top of a less-complex way of meeting bodily needs.

The phrase “higher level of consciousness” makes as much sense as the phrase “soft drink” and probably feeds the body with as many unnecessary calories.  Voodoo mysticism disguised as a marketing/advertisement campaign.

I’ll imagine some of the daily habits associated with a simpler life, especially since I lead one right now (albeit in concert with my wife’s continued participation in work/social life):

• Wake up and get up when my body feels refreshed.  Heat a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of caffeinated tea (Earl Pine, Darjeeling or plain black tea). Shower and shave while waiting for oatmeal to cool.  Eat oatmeal with morning medication/vitamins.
• Take a morning bike ride.  Record thoughts and/or take pictures during the ride.
• Return to the domicile and perform mental research which may include reading, writing, Internet search and/or old-fashioned thinking.
• Make lunch – half a sandwich (turkey/cheese or peanut butter/apple butter), nuts and drink (a glass of beer, wine, water or tea).
• Eat part of a chocolate bar.
• Write letters/notes to friends after lunch.
• Take nap.
• Make afternoon cup of herbal tea.
• Perform mental research which may include reading, writing, Internet search and/or old-fashioned thinking.
• Shop for food/necessities at local store.
• Make dinner – salad, fruits and vegetables, chicken, and drink (a glass of beer, wine, water or tea), and dessert.
• Take an evening walk.  Record thoughts and/or take pictures during the walk.
• Return to the domicile and perform mental research which may include reading, writing, Internet search and/or old-fashioned thinking.
• Brush teeth, take medication and go to bed.

How long could I live a life like this before I’d give in to the desire for human conversation with friends, family or even strangers?  Days, most likely.  Unless Internet research substituted interaction via blogs for the human voice (use voice reproduction system, too?).

What about human contact?  Without a human companion in the house, I would bounce ideas against echoing walls and receive poor feedback in return.  Daily hugs and kisses would go away.  Even the cats in our house provide companionship that I would miss after living alone for a while.

A person can jump into this solitary style of living fairly easily.  Despite urban sprawl, one can quickly buy a small home or farmhouse and an inexpensive means of transportation in most parts of the country.  Certainly, several authors have published books on this subject and provided resources for how to live a frugal life.

So what about a “higher level of consciousness”?  I have lived a semi-solitary life for nine months now, seeing cats throughout the day and spending evenings with my wife.  Therefore, a number of hours each day I have (or could have) found time to contemplate my navel while burning incense in this sacred temple I call a house.

What have I discovered so far?

• For starters, one can view neighbors as friendly or unfriendly and respond accordingly. Neighbors tolerate all sorts of unusual behavior because we all view ourselves as unique, free-to-act-as-we-please individuals.  Variety of character types livens up neighborhood gatherings. Homphily (the tendency for like individuals to gather with their own kind) makes for boredom.
• Houses exist in the natural world and act as refuge for many non-human beings.  Squirrels want to find their way inside to nest and will chew on wood siding unless you spray the wood with pulverized hot pepper seeds.  Wasps find the tiniest holes in which to make nests, usually between the gutters and eaves.  Ants and termites work 24-hours a day to take advantage of house materials.  Chipmunks will build homes under concrete driveways.  Raccoons, opossums, and skunks will eat anything that resembles food left outside the house. Dragonflies will amaze you in their magical colorations while they hover over any pocket of water in the yard, grabbing horse flies in midair.  Cave crickets, roaches and spiders like crawl spaces and scaring the bejeezus out of you in the dead of night.
• Setting aside time to think automatically invites interruptions, from the aforementioned squirrels chewing on the house, to the smiling mail carrier delivering a package (as in just now coming up the steps to deliver a box of handmade soaps) to people curious if I’d like to sell the ’62 Dodge Lancer or ’91 Chevy S10 gathering dust in the yard (as in yesterday and last month). Even a kid wrecking his Honda CR-V in the ditch across the street.  I’ll let most anything get my attention.
• Meditative thinking builds a peaceful countenance and lowers blood pressure.
• News outlets rarely provide informative content and television entertainment rarely entertains.
• “Higher level of consciousness” sounds silly unless one invents a hierarchical system of existence for conscious beings.

5/9/2008 3:21 PM

Preparing for the life of a Monk

2008-04-29. I had just heard from a friend who had a fantastic time visiting Germany and Holland – no particular adventures worth writing about but interesting observations, just the same. She surprised me about her disgust in seeing uncleanliness in Holland but at least she expressed an honest opinion on the matter. Perhaps in the midst of the destruction in Thailand/Malaysia during her humanitarian visit a few years ago, she felt the area was unclean only because of the tsunami conditions and not a result of cultural habits?
In any case, she inquired about a letter I had promised her some months ago, a letter that would become part of the outlined book I had sent her, “The Mind’s Eye”. Seems like years since last she and I had spoken [time, the relative measure of the moments of our lives, has lost meaning to me now that I live the life of leisure]. In that time, I lost part of myself and have no means of recovering or recuperating. Sadly so.
I had embarked on an adventure of my own, to explore the functions of the brain, to understand the concept of consciousness, to see if knowing how I think would improve what I think about.
I put aside all trappings of my society – salaried corporate worker, husband, lover, friend, son, uncle, brother – so the deeply personal layers would easily fall away, exposing the merely human aspects of my thought patterns in hopes that I could also separate the non-human animal behaviors, leaving just the thoughts associated with the evolution of the brain in the last 100,000 years or so.
In other words, I wanted to know why humans gather to form complex civilizations. I delved into treatises on the subject, some of which I’ve probably already mentioned, including Guns, Germs and Steel by Jared Diamond. I also read Consciousness Explained by Daniel C. Dennett and How to See Yourself for Who You Really Are by the Dalai Lama.
I balanced this collegiate-level learning against the instinct that drives much of my thinking. I gained a good holistic view of the mind. Just as I expected a breakthrough in my thinking process, a colleague sought my help with a project at his startup high-tech firm – would I provide consulting services based on my expertise in the field of RF design (i.e., wireless communications similar to cell phones)? “Sure,” I said in February, without batting an eye.
Unfortunately, in the midst of helping him, I ran into a person who bullied and harassed me in the same manner as bullies from my grade school days who hounded me about why I received special treatment from teachers and they did not (and subsequently using the threat of violence to get schoolwork assistance out of me). I could not avoid the bullying person because he worked on the same project. During this time period, up toward the end of March, I gained a lot of weight and started looking years older. My heart arrhythmia increased to the point where I constantly felt a weight on my chest, all the while assuring myself that I’d welcome a pending fatal heart attack with open arms. I even stopped taking my cholesterol, blood pressure and heart arrhythmia medicine in hopes of speeding up my pending death.
Some say an artist must suffer in order to achieve great art.
After realizing that no friend deserved my dying efforts to boost his vocational goals, I stopped working for my colleague in early April. I needed time to heal.
During these past few weeks of my recovery, I focused on publishing my latest novel, “Are You With The Program?” The novel had won the semifinalist Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award, so it, along with other novels of mine, now sits in this virtual world at http://www.treetrunkproductions.com/Writings.html, waiting to be discovered by the masses (or at least by those who would enjoy reading my writing style).
As I thought about my friend’s phone call today, I set aside everything so I could open my self up to rewiring my brain for the next level of thinking (above and beyond normal consciousness). Then, my work colleague happened to email me, wanting to meet me for lunch tomorrow to have me sign two copies of my novel as well as discussing ways to help him complete the project I started, but in such a way that I’d not compromise my principles or get ill again.
My friend’s phone call and my colleague’s email request both occurred today, bringing to mind the poem, “The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost:
The Road Not Taken

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth; 5
Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same, 10
And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back. 15
I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference. 20

For you see, I face this same age-old tale. Can I step back on the path my friend has started down, the path that few have chosen, the path of a young startup company with no promise of success so I can use my consulting services to help him try to improve his chances for business success, or do I choose the even less-trodden path of self-enlightenment, giving up the easy money of consulting, even giving up the easy life that my wife’s job benefits have provided me, to seek the solace of a simple, meditative life of a hermit who wishes to discard the social/cultural bag of tricks most of us call middle-class living in order to focus on living solely in the moment?
You can bet which path is easier to take. The first one would make my wife and family happy. The second contains many unknowns. At this point, I can only imagine how to secure myself financially enough to support a solitary life, including flipping my 401(k) investments into 72(t)/(q) annual distributions (the Internal Revenue Code sections 72(t) and 72(q) allow for penalty free early withdrawals from retirement accounts), amounting to an annual salary of poverty proportions. Could I live such a life in order to make myself an improved thinker?
Very few people in our society give up their belongings to become hermits. When I took a comparative religions course at UT, I learned about an Eastern culture where a local religion encouraged older people to renounce the ways of the working class in order to embrace the life of the solitary individual (what we call a monk) in preparation for the afterlife – these people are revered because they have reached the level of living associated with the absence of earthly desires (sexual desire and the desire for food fall away, but the capacity for enjoyment and pleasure continues).
I have reached a similar level of understanding in my consciousness. I have enjoyed the materialistic life and some thoughts in my mind still pull me in the direction of materialistic wants, including the desire for a Zen garden in the backyard as well as a motor scooter on which to travel efficiently around town. These desires lessen in strength with the passage of time and merge with my desire to have minimal impact on non-human habitats. As far as desires of the flesh, my wife and I are less active than we used to be. My wife’s needs of me fall into mainly materialistic ones. For instance, my wife would like me to get a job so we could fix up the house – including the completion of her desire for hardwood living/dining room floor, tiled kitchen/breakfast bay/laundry room floor and new master bathroom – and continue to travel around the world during annual vacations. I no longer share these desires with her, which tells me that my time with her may soon draw to a close (she can fulfill these desires if I no longer burden her with my daily living needs – what she would not easily fulfill includes her desire to give more money to our niece for completion of her college education and support of her pending marriage; also, my wife would have to find a way to help supplement her mother’s financial needs).
As I pause to consider concluding this letter, I wonder what forms of consciousness, if any, open up to those who have given up earthly desires. Not too long ago, I read the book, Siddhartha, by Hermann Hesse. The book tells the story of a follower of Buddhism who figures out that following someone, even a charismatic person like the Buddha, does not guarantee a person a satisfying life. The main character reached an understanding about life but I would not call his understanding a satisfying one – the character figured out that our thoughts and actions do not change the basic aspects of life itself (the circle of life – birth, marriage, babies, death – must continue for any species to survive). I agree with the author on that one. No matter what I discover about consciousness and the wondrous ways to make my brain work, I will not change life itself. Thus, my self-enlightenment will not make everyone around me happy or help them more easily reach self-enlightenment. In fact, it may do the opposite. But my path to self-enlightenment is not the same as the path for others’ self-enlightenment.
In the end, life is simply a matter of how the individual member of one species decides to ensure its survival in such a way that it helps (or at least does not jeopardize) the survival of other members of its own species at the cost of other species’ capabilities to survive within a narrow range of time encompassing the individual’s life. Inevitably, all individuals and all species will cease to exist but Earth, the solar system, the Milky Way galaxy and the universe will go on none the lesser because of the loss.
Depending on my lunchtime meeting tomorrow, I may have time to expand this letter as a story to include with the rest of the material in “The Mind’s Eye” that I gave my friend. I also owe her a signed copy of my new book, “Are You With The Program?”.
More as it develops…

 

5/9/2008 2:51 PM

The Heritage of Hope

My people…can I really say that? I suppose I can. What right any of us have to claim ancestry or ancestors depends as much on our blood line as on our general heritage.

My heritage, my people. That sounds better.

I grew up in a little village along a creek that belonged not to my family but to a family with greater ties to the new nation of this land. My nation, old in years and wise beyond measure, no longer controlled the area where I grew up but we still belonged to the land.

The people of the new nation have pale skin. Other than that, they are much like us. They look for soil in which to plant seed crops. They set aside fields in which to raise livestock. They differ from us in their methods – most of them have adopted the use of mechanized hand tools to work the fields and tend their livestock. They hunt the land more for sport than for food.

I do not begrudge the loss of freedom that I hear my tribal leaders speak of. True, we cannot roam the area like we used to. We cannot declare war on our neighbors or take their possessions. At the same time, the medicine of the pale ones heals in ways that our medicine men and women cannot. We also receive the education of the pale people, sharing this time of learning with dark people, too. The teachers say we are all the same color in God’s eyes. I accept this teaching, even though few of the pale ones practice God’s blindness on a daily basis.

My mother talks to me in our language, hoping that I, young but wise, will carry our culture to the next generation because my mother knows I talk to our ancestors, what you call ghosts, who come to me in dreams or while I take meditative walks in the woods.

I, whose mother lives in this village but whose father lives among the pale ones. I, whose eyes are blue and whose hair is wavy and dark brown, not black. I, whose skin is neither pale nor brown but a mixture of both, what you call freckled.

I live in the village with my mother but my spirit wanders two worlds. The sacred cedar calls my name and I listen. At the same time I know the cedar has another name – Juniperus virginiana. Two worlds – the world of my ancestors and the world of the pale ones.

My heritage, my people.

In either world, knowledge brings responsibility. I have walked the spirit world many times and brought back knowledge that no one of my people on either side understand. I cannot impart this knowledge to others if they do not see what the knowledge means. Yet, I must try. I will not carry this knowledge with me to the Great Adventure after this life. If the knowledge dies with me, my people – in fact, all people – will die without wisdom.

My ancestors have taught me patience. They tell me that I may have to walk many miles alone in the woods before I find the right words that will give understanding to my people. At the same time, I have seen my life is very short so I do not wear patience well.

I believe I have found words that will give you a partial understanding of my vision and you will know what to do after you read these words.

The sacred trees of my ancestors, the evergreens such as cedar, pine, spruce, laurel and holly, speak to all of us in every season. Their leaves appear everlasting, even though the trees themselves have finite lives. They bear the simple truth of my message.

Our people, with our stories that talk about the beginning of time, appear everlasting, even though the people themselves have finite lives. We bear the simple truth of my message.

A spider cannot know this because it must built a new web every day. A butterfly cannot know this because no two flowers are alike. We carry the message for them because our creator has infused us with this responsibility.

Sameness and difference are one. They bear the simple truth of my message.

My message has only one word in our shared language: hope.

I have told this word to many of you but you do not understand. You see the word as if it means doom or giving up. You think it means something that you can put off until tomorrow or will happen in someone else’s lifetime.

Hope is not a timeframe and it is not an abstract idea.

Hope means action. Action at all times, not just now or later.

Hope is life.

Yes, each of us has a finite life on this world. But soon we will be ancestors, ancestors who stay with our people forever. Hope is for this world and for the world of our ancestors. Hope is for the spirit world, too. Hope is for the world of our people, for the world of the pale ones and the dark ones. Hope is blind like the God of the pale people.

As I walk this part of the world, watching large mechanized tools roll over the sacred trees and the grounds of our sacred friends, the cougar and the owl, I see hope in action.

Hope is change.

Hope is embracing the unknown.

Long ago, a people more ancient than mine wandered this land. They used a language to name the sacred entities in their world. Their language and their sacred friends like the woolly mammoth no longer exist in this world. But they are my ancestors and provide me guidance in the spirit world. They perform a circle dance for me and chant the word, “Hope.”

Hope is knowing that nothing is everlasting.

Many people speak of preserving a way of life or a sacred friend like the whale or rhino. They do not understand hope. I pay reverence to the sacred plants and animals of my people but because of hope I know that this world will go away, including all the sacred plants and animals and people. Preservation is not hope – it is losing hope. We must let go in order to have hope.

I know that one day as an ancestor I will give hope to new people of a new world while I rediscover hope in the Great Adventure after this life.

So should you.

5/2/2008 2:48 PM

Rest In Peace

Scientists make surprising discoveries every day — how many of them impact society?

RIP Albert Hofmann:

His Impact

 

5/1/2008 4:39 PM

Reinforcing my belief in the moment

Sometimes, while sitting alone on the front deck watching cars drive by or jumping up off the sofa while writing on the laptop in the sunroom to chase squirrels off the roof, I wonder if I’ve made the right decision to live in the moment (i.e., not working at a job that promises a future of salary increases and job title advancement).  After all, I could sacrifice my appreciation for a clockless world by sitting in a large box building cooped up with a bunch of other less-than-thrilled humans while working to enhance the pockets of stockholders or company executives.

Then, I’ll come across a website with a title like, “The Real Success Resource Center – For Real People Who Want to Work at Their Dream Jobs,” and thank my lucky stars that others like me enjoy the quiet life of contemplation.

Rewiring one’s thoughts to live in the moment, where true joy resides…well, I depend so much on memory to measure the value of my life that I forget much of my memory grew out of living with parents who toiled at jobs so that I’d get an education that would improve my chances for success at a job, too.  Savoring the moment was reserved for annual vacations.

Putting the past behind me takes more effort to forget, sometimes.  Other times, I watch the afternoon sun light up the trees in the backyard and break out in a big smile.  Artificial clocks give way to the simple pleasure of watching Earth spin on its axis.

As a writer, though, interacting with others provides impetus for new stories.  As a person of leisure, where do I run into interesting people?  Hmm…

4/29/2008 4:27 PM

Needing the needy?

27^th April 2008, 9:00 a.m., 66 deg F, overcast skies

 

Weeping fig (Ficus benjamina), night-blooming cereus (Cereus greggii), split-leaf philodendron (Monstera deliciosa), Japanese ginger, Kousa dogwood (Cornus kousa) – plants 20 to 30 feet away that don’t fit into the naturally wooded area that surrounds me while I sit in the sunroom.

No Internet access this morning. We lost power from 2:40 am until 3:45 am and our APC battery backup / power surge system won’t restart (the APC software had recently warned me the battery was no longer useful). Thus, I do not have power for the wireless Internet router at this time.

After the power came back on, a powerful thunderstorm blew through our neighborhood around 5:00 am and lasted, I don’t know, about an hour. The azaleas along the front walkway almost touch the ground, bent over as they are full of blooms and water. Many wild bushes in the backyard, such as large St. John’s wort (Hypericum sp.), also bow toward me in reverence to the strength of falling water.

A stick of incense burns beside me. A cup of cold green tea waits for me to take a sip.

Birds of unknown species call out to each other – common, to be sure, but special to me – at least three different kinds, maybe four. Probably tufted titmouse, cardinal and something else. While I sat in the garage typing away on Friday, a tufted titmouse landed on the top of the laptop screen. The bird looked at me as if it determined I was friend, not foe, and thus wanted a morsel. Alas, I had no bird seed. The bird flew on, giving me a smile for free.

= = = = =

To earn a living,

To take a job,

And thus to say

I have labor credits –

Alms for the poor,

Whose labor does not

Provide sufficient means

Of support.

Need I worry about them?

Religions teach us

To care for the less able –

The crippled,

The handicapped,

The orphaned,

The widowed –

In return, we feed

Our inner selves.

 

What if my inner self

Needs no feeding,

Has already feasted,

Received plenty more

Than I ever desired?

No immediate answer

Wells up from within.

 

I have used the first

Forty-five years of my life

To prepare for death.

I did not anticipate

Living any longer.

As the end of my

Forty-sixth year approaches,

How shall I make myself

Useful in life?

No immediate answer

Wells up from within.

 

When the well runs dry,

The inner self dies;

Or, at least,

Signals time to travel on

To the next oasis.

= = = = =

Rain beats the sunroom roof at 9:45 am. How did the Carpenters’ song go… “Rainy days and Mondays always get me down”? I like rainy days. They liven up the trees and underbrush, fill the backyard pond, chase the bugs (actually, insects) under leaves and make lovely patterns on the skylights.

The incense almost burns out. The teacup reaches empty.

The rain and the birds and the bugs and the trees…sigh…for lack of a better phrase, today is a beautiful day!

 

4/27/2008 6:59 PM

All four novels now for sale

After wrestling with myself and losing the battle of saving the planet from one more tree-chopping book in the marketplace, I’ve placed all of my novels on the Internet for potential book sales (and not one penny of profit for me, either!):

Helen of Kosciusko

Milk Chocolate

Sticks to Lying

Are You With The Program?

Other ewriting/ebooks available at:
http://www.geocities.com/bigcove
http://www.geocities.com/bigcove2

Now to create a website for http://www.treetrunkproductions.org that points to the book sales sites above.

I’ve published everything (including small runs of copies of my short stories and poems — “Of Friends, Neighbors, Lovers and Miscellaneous Passers-by,” “A Quiet Repose,” and “A Work In Progress: The Unabridged Works of Bruce Colline”) except my paper journals, drawings and art projects.

I’ve fulfilled my self-actualization wants.

Do I go back and fulfill my materialistic desires (writer’s shack, greenhouse, and formal Zen garden in the backyard; new 250cc scooter for getting around town) at the cost of pushing the human environment closer to the brink of extinction?  The self-disciplined, self-sacrificing part of me says no.

Then why else work for more than self-sufficiency wages?  What to do with the extra money that doesn’t go to food/shelter/clothing/retirement?  Give to the poor or needy, perhaps.  Who are the “poor”?  Who are the “needy”?  Why should they get my money?  More on this subject after I think about it a while…

4/26/2008 8:47 AM

My life is complete — A Published Author With Critical Reviews

FWIW, I published a book for sale on the Internet in 2006:

http://www.lulu.com/content/529015

Never got any sales or reviews on that one, though.

However, I finally received both critical reviews and sales of my book from 2007, “Are You With The Program?”

Where it can be bought:

http://www.createspace.com/3341308

Where the pre-edited version of the book was reviewed (which provided valuable editing/storyline suggestions):

Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award Semifinalist

 

If you get a chance to read “Are You With The Program?”, you may want to check out the website associated with MORTIE:

     http://mortie.org/

Gotta publish my other novels, “Milk Chocolate” and “Helen of Kosciusko”.

Otherwise, my other writing is available at http://www.geocities.com/bigcove or http://www.geocities.com/bigcove2

 

4/22/2008 12:19 PM

One Bite at a Time

 

One Bite at a Time

Every Navy ROTC midshipman has to serve a tour of duty in the summer months. During my freshman year at Georgia Tech, I kept hearing all the horror stories that the upperclassmen told about their previous tours.

Inevitably, one of them would relate the tale of a former Tech classmate who had not survived. The classmate would have served aboard a ship that docked at an unsavory port like Naples or the Philippines Navy base. The story went on with the classmate receiving the standard warning not to travel alone, leave base in uniform or stand out in any way that labeled him an American at a distance great enough to attract the attention of troublemakers. The classmate would not heed the warning, leave base in uniform, break away from the group of sailors he walked into town with and then end up stabbed, shot, beaten to death or otherwise given a less-than-pleasant ending to his young life.

I had heard most of these tales before I entered ROTC because my grandfather had joined the Navy in 1929 at the age of 17 and traveled all over the world during his 29 years of service. He told me about the cheap hookers in the Philippines who were usually well below the age of consent in the United States. He had survived many a fight himself. He died before I received the full Navy ROTC college scholarship to Georgia Tech so I never knew if he would have approved or not.

You see, my grandfather never finished high school. He joined the Navy as much out of necessity as out of a desire to serve his country. I joined the Navy because it looked like an easy ride out of high school and into college. Easy ride as long as chemical engineering is not your major. But that’s another story.

I met Paul O’Reilly at a new German restaurant in town, the Schnitzel Ranch. Paul wanted to go over the recent changes at his new startup company, Belchout, Lowd and Hyde, or BLH for short. BLH had enjoyed a lucrative couple of quarters and Paul wanted to increase the intellectual wealth of the company. He turned to friends and colleagues to see which ones of them would join BLH during its uncertain early years. I was willing to listen.

“Bruce! Hey, you beat me here.”

“Yeah, I was just doodling around the house killing time this morning and decided to head to the restaurant early.”

Paul sat across the booth from me and grabbed the menu from the table. “What do you suggest?” He cradled a cell phone between his head and shoulder while he looked over the food items. He spoke to someone on the other end. “Yeah. Uh-huh. No, I wouldn’t add that wire. No, a cap will do just fine. Yes, I understand. No. No. Yes. Okay. No. I see. Well, if that’s what you see. No, I clearly remember I wanted to put that on the schematic but forgot to. Well, if you have the software, go ahead and make the mods. Yes. Uh-huh. No, like I said, no wire, just a cap. A cap. You can look up the values from the email I sent you.”

I sat and looked at my nails while Paul continued the one-way conversation in front of me. That is, until a trio of savory dishes walked into the store. Three shapely women in nurses’ uniforms dropped into the booth behind Paul. I made nodding eye contact with the two women who faced me. They appeared to be around my age and unlike the social stigma that makes middle-aged women feel unwanted and left in the dark by younger women, these two women held their own quite well. Almost too well. I forgot that Paul sat in front of me.

“So, Bruce, what do you think? Schnitzel or cordon bleu? Bruce? You there?”

I shook my head and turned back to Bruce. “What?”

“For lunch? Or do you have something else in mind?”

We both laughed.

“Oh, I’m having the zegeuner schnitzel. One of my favorites.”

“I see. Well, I guess that means I’ll have the cordon bleu.”

The server came to our table to take our order. Paul patted the server on the arm for being patient while he talked on the phone again.

I turned back to the medical ladies over Paul’s shoulder.

I remembered my freshman ROTC cruise. My grades had not been as good at Georgia Tech as my ACT score and high school GPA would have suggested them to be. Because of the low grades, my advisor told me my freshman summer ship assignment would not please me. I wasn’t getting the worst, — a Gitmo Bay duty that some of my classmates received – instead, I was being shipped off to the Indian Ocean for a short cruise on a frigate.

Indian Ocean? Wow, that sounded exciting.

Little did I know.

I winked at the older of the two nurses facing me. She smiled and blushed, reminding me of the older woman who caught my fancy at a port of call.

We had docked at Bombay (now Mumbai). As usual, we received the warnings not to attract attention. Before we left the frigate, I switched over to the Mexican shirt and light trousers I had bought on a road trip to Tijuana the summer before I started college. As we walked around Bombay, I marveled at all the smells. Just like I had imagined it to be. Except for the hard work aboard ship, this trip to Bombay made any problems with my school grades seem like nonsense.

A couple of my mates wanted to walk down a small street to find the top of a building they’d seen in the distance. As we walked along, an older woman smiled at me from a second story window. The way she smiled held my attention. Her face captivated me, warmed me as if I was a young baby being cradled in the arms of a loving mother.

I told the guys that I’d catch up with them after I’d taken a couple of pictures. They were used to my behavior and didn’t even bother to warn me to hurry up.

I pointed the camera at the woman on the balcony. She maintained her smile as I snapped a few shots. Then, she held up a finger as if to tell me to wait. She disappeared.

I looked around to make sure that no trickster was trying to approach me as I waited under the balcony. I trusted everyone I met and distrusted everyone I hadn’t met. Made life easier on the road.

A minute later, the woman reappeared as she walked out of a door about 10 feet away.

She spoke in the usual Indian/Queen’s English. “Are you a tourist?”

“No, I’m here with a Navy ship.”

“Oh, so you are a sailor. But you are not drunk and rabble-rousing. Perhaps you are sick. Is that why you stopped here?”

I shook my head. “No, I just saw you standing up there and thought I saw an angel.”

The woman blushed. “An angel? No. But I tell you what, for your kindness I will show you something. Would you be willing to follow me back inside?”

I looked down the street for my buddies. They had just reached the end of the street where they were going to make a turn. They looked back at me and waved. I motioned for them to come back.

“Well, as you can see, I’m in town with some buddies. You mind if they come, too?”

“Not at all. I have plenty to share.”

When Sal and Julian got up to me, I explained what had happened. They, like me, enjoyed a good adventure and agreed to follow the woman inside the house.

We stepped inside and found ourselves surrounded by small children who were running up and down a short hallway. Incense burned in sconces on the wall. The strong scent of curry permeated the air.

The woman motioned us to follow her up a set of stairs. As we climbed the steps, I looked at symbols carved into the wall. They resembled drawings from the second section of a book called the Kama Sutra that one of the sailors on-board ship had shared with us. The section of the book as well as the stairwell showed various sexual positions. I began to wonder if perhaps we’d been duped into entering a brothel. Certainly wouldn’t have been my first trip to a house of ill repute but since I had no condoms with me this time I didn’t want to risk catching an STD.

“Guys, you seeing what I’m seeing?”

Sal nodded, drool coming out of the side of his mouth. “Oh, yeah. Bruce, you picked a good one this time.” He slapped me on the back and pushed me up the stairs to the landing.

Julian stepped in next to us and opened his eyes wide.

Ten or twelve half-naked young women lay draped out across worn-out furniture.

The woman who’d led us there spread her arms. “Sirs, here are the angels. You will not find a better heaven in Mumbai. I will get you some drinks. While I am gone, please make yourselves acquainted.”

I snapped a picture of the smiling faces and their attached bodies. As I continued to hold the viewfinder to my eye, I realized that some of the young women were not women at all but girls. I shook my head. In poor countries all over the world, the sex industry often provided the only means for a family to break the cycle of poverty, especially if they were blessed with a pretty female. Although the Western governments did not officially recognize prostitution, many of the government officials found their way to places like this to participate in the exchange of money for sex. I would never excuse someone for selling their daughter but neither could I imagine the “wealth” that a family could gain simply from the appearance of one of their offspring.

Sal pointed to a 14 or 15-year old girl with brightly painted eyes. “Hey, I’m Sal! What’s your name?”

The girl stood up and nodded gently toward Sal. I could see her pull on a smile of lust like a wornout Mardi Gras mask, a subtle pretense wasted on Sal. He just saw an open mouth, puffy lips on a female form.

Julian stood still. His kinky, curly blond hair and light brown skin often threw people for a loop. He loved his “half breed” status and used the looks for an effect that gathered women like fans to a famous NASCAR driver, scrambling to touch a part of his body as if it would give them magic powers. After 20 or 30 seconds, a pair of women stood on both sides of Julian and started pulling him down the hall.

By the time the woman arrived with the drinks, I was left standing with a mix of prostitutes, from probably 30 years of age down to 10. They had taken turns asking me what I liked, at first pretending to be interested in my manhood but soon gaining true curiosity as to my resistance to their charms.

The woman handed me my drink. “I am sorry. Do none of my angels interest you?”

“Oh, yes. Any one of these shiny gems would brighten me up was I to spend some time alone with them. However, my interests lie elsewhere tonight.”

“Do you prefer young men?”

“Oh, no, but thanks for the offer. No, I was hoping for something more enlightening. Something that would help me fully understand the teachings of the Kama Sutra.”

The woman nodded. “Oh, you Hindu?”

“I don’t think so. But I want to better my place in this life. I read the Kama Sutra and believe it offers not only sex but also how to achieve material success while treating others with virtue and kindness.”

The woman reached out to shake my hand. “Very good. My name is Bhagya. You are very lucky to have find me here. These young people do not belong to me. They belong to my mother who is away on holiday in the UK. I am a teacher. If you will follow me, I will show you something.”

I walked down the hall behind Bhagya and observed the paintings on the walls. No discernible shapes stood out. Instead, I thought of the undulating waves of an ocean or the rolling tops of cumulus clouds on a windy day.

Bhagya stopped at a door near the end of the hallway. As she grabbed the doorknob, she turned to me and asked a question. “How do you eat an elephant?”

“Excuse me?”

“How do you eat an elephant?”

I had no idea what she meant. Did she ask a literal question or a figurative one? Did my answer depend on entering the room?

“Bhagya.”

“Yes.” Bhagya kept her hand on the doorknob.

“Do you know the story of the elephant and the blind men?”

“Oh, yes, I do. Very wise tale.”

“I agree. If the elephant in that story was the one we were about to eat, then I would respond that one cannot eat an elephant of so many different parts in just one sitting.”

“Hmm…we’ll see.” Bhagya opened the door and let me walk in front of her. After we both were inside, she closed the door and turned off the lights.

Soon, I felt strange, as if my body changed shapes. My ear itched but I couldn’t reach up to scratch it because I stood on four feet. I shook my head and could feel my nose brush against my chest. For all intents and purposes, I acted like a small elephant.

Bhagya met Sal and Julian later that evening. “Well, I think you two are very happy.”

Sal beamed. “You betcha. Say, have you seen Bruce? We gotta get back to the ship by 5 a.m. and it’s nearly 4.”

“Your friend had a good time himself, I think. Perhaps you will see him again at the ship.”

“If you say so. Okay, Jules, let’s get outta here.”

Bhagya held up her hand. “Before you go, I have one favor to ask of you.”

“As long as it ain’t gonna cost us any more time or money.”

“No, not at all. You see, there is an old man out in the street in front of my house. He needs to get an elephant to the port but he is crippled and cannot make the trip. If you would be so kind as to walk the elephant for him, you would do me and my angels a big favor.”

“Sure thing, sister.”

Sal and Julian bounded down the stairs and out the front door. Sure enough, a leprous looking guy sat on a stool while holding a chain that was wrapped around a baby elephant’s neck.

The old man stuck out his hand.

Sal shook his head. Julian, feeling sorry for the old fellow, reached into his pocket and gave the man a few coins. The man handed Julian the chain.

Sal and Julian trotted the elephant back to the boatyard. When they got to the main gate, they weren’t sure what to do so they told the guard that the elephant was hired to serve as a new mascot for the ship. The guard radioed the OOD, who reprimanded the guard for wasting his time about some drunk sailors’ tales. After the guard told them they were already in trouble, Sal and Julian figured it wasn’t their duty to take care of the elephant any longer so they tied the chain to a nearby post and returned to the ship.

I stood next to the guard shack and rocked back and forth for hours. I tried to make a roaring sound but all that came out was a squawk that barely got the guard’s attention. I looked into the shack and the clock showed 8 o’clock. Not only was I in some kind of weird predicament in the guise of an elephant but I was also AWOL.

At 10 o’clock, the ship left port. A couple of hours later, Bhagya and the old man returned. They stood with me until an Australian Navy ship docked. Then, as sailors walked past the gate, Bhagya and the old man started begging for money. Eventually, a sailor still wet behind the ear stopped to talk to them. They convinced the sailor that I was a human in disguise but the only way he would find out was to follow them back to their house.

A few hours later, I found myself free from the spell of Bhagya and on the phone to Pacific headquarters trying to explain why I was AWOL because I had been turned into an elephant as a lesson in the teachings of the true way of Kama Sutra. Not surprisingly, I learned that unless my story involved an alcohol binge, body-disabling fights or stolen money, my superiors didn’t care why I was late and going to cost the United States precious dollars to get me back to my ship. More importantly, I learned that money and sex had no sway over me any longer, which meant I was well on my way to reaching nirvana or whatever it was that the Hindus and Buddhists called heaven. In other words, I was free from the bonds of humanity and ready to accept death.

4/22/2008 11:22 AM

An inspiration for retirement

What leads one to enter the Retirement World?  Maybe the pre-retirement parting email I sent to Cumulo-Seven coworkers will answer that question for one person.

From: Colline, Bruce
Sent: Monday, July 16
To: Cumulo-Seven Team
Subject: A Fond Farewell

All,

Haven’t we all wanted to part company leaving a few words of wisdom but never had the time to do so? Well, since I’ve got a few minutes to spare this week, I want to share my parting words with you all before I leave on Friday. You guys have been the best group of folks I’ve had the pleasure to work with. With all the exciting changes taking place at Cumulo-Seven, I’m sure you will be right in the midst of things and taking Cumulo-Seven to places not yet thought of. I may be back at Cumulo-Seven one day but for now have other priorities to focus on.

If you want to keep working effectively

I have always strived to improve my work efficiency but realized recently that being efficient is not enough. We can be efficient at a low-priority task but not really be very effective for our employer’s high-priority needs.

I found a book that focuses on improving your effectiveness not by implementing any grand ideals but by simply improving daily task performance (including low- and high-priority ones) by solving problems in a clever way. The book is titled, “Lifehacker: 88 tech tricks to turbocharge your day,” and is very good. It includes 88 lifehacks like limiting access to time-wasting web sites, filtering low-priority email messages, automatically defragmenting your hard drive, and improving your “mental RAM” by leaving writing material everywhere. If you’re putting time aside each week to read business-related material, I highly recommend you skim through “Lifehacker” for quick fixes to your workday.

Kim Holstrom has a similar suggestion:

“on that note, there’s another really good book on increasing task-level efficiency called “Getting Things Done,” by David Allen. He has a good website too, http://www.davidco.com. I already had built a task database for myself and ordered things according to importance and urgency, and prioritized those. This increased my efficiency.

“When I got too efficient, Cumulo-Seven gave me more to do

The “secret” to a rich life

For you young folks out there, a book that will help set your mind on the secret of success is an old classic that has been revised for our generation, “Think and Grow Rich!” (ISBN 1-59330-200-2) by Napoleon Colline. That book, combined with the other classic by Dale Carnegie, “How to win friends and influence people,” lays down the basic ideas of a successful business life.

The “secret” of these books is not really a secret at all but an idea that not everyone fully understands. To be successful, you must have an undying belief in what you’re doing, knowing that the path you’ve chosen will lead you to riches unimaginable (including a wealth of friends). If your belief is strong enough, you won’t want to criticize others for what they believe; they in turn will see the strength within you and want what you want. It’s like the old saying, “a rising tide lifts all ships.” As your wealth rises, the wealth of those around you rises and vice versa.

Enjoy your life as the Millionaire Next Door

Of course, we don’t all have the wherewithal to quit our jobs and start our own businesses but you can retire early if you observe and take some advice from the millionaires around you.

Some coworkers and I were talking about seeing John Cooper shopping for discount items at the store the other day. His technique appears to be part of the Millionaire Next Door mentality – the latte factor (save $5 per day by not buying that latte (or other unnecessary expense) in the morning and at a 10% growth rate, you can have a healthy nest egg in 40 years). Here’s an interesting website for the “automatic millionaire next door”:

http://finance.yahoo.com/expert/archive/millionaire/david-bach/1

If you haven’t read “The Automatic Millionaire Next Door” or are not following the practice of paying yourself first (doing stuff like maximizing 401(k) accounts), you should read the book or at least check out the author’s website:

http://www.finishrich.com/books/automatic_brandhome.php

There’s no time like the present to start turning yourself into a millionaire. My sister and I were raised on the principle that you don’t have to buy brand-name goods in order to have a high-quality life – discount tissues, no-name sodas (or faucet water, instead) and other low-cost daily consumables will bring you the same utility as higher-priced name-brand goods but more importantly will allow you to put aside a few dollars a week toward stock investments. A share or two of stock at a time doesn’t seem like much but it’s fun to watch the compounding factor as the years go by, not just for yourself but for your children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews, too. If you’re interesting in buying single shares of stock, check out this website:

http://finance.yahoo.com/education/drip/dspp_plans/article/101145/Buying_A_Single_Share_Direct_From_the_Company

If you want to change your outlook on work

There is one book that changed my outlook on life, opening my eyes that after I’ve become a millionaire, I can abandon the “deferred-life plan.” The book, “The 4-hour workweek: escape 9-5, live anywhere, and join the new rich,” points out the difference between absolute and relative income, how to train your boss to value performance over presence (or kill your job if it’s beyond repair), how to trade a long-haul career for short work bursts and frequent “mini-retirements,” and how to fill the void and create a meaningful life after removing work and the office. If you’ve ever had a side business that interested you or already know how to operate in the global marketplace and want to be independent, I highly recommend you read this book.

CONCLUSION

Life is shorter than we think but at the same time, life is a long, joyous affair. Don’t catch yourself accumulating wealth and material goods at the expense of multiple days of drudgery. Turn the goals of your life and your job into something exciting. My brother in-law died at the age of 51. Although he had enjoyed his life, he had deferred much of what he wanted to do and just as he became wealthy enough to even consider taking some time off to pursue his dreams, he died.
In a commencement speech at Stanford University in 2005, Steve Jobs said,

When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: “If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you’ll most certainly be right.” It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: “If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?” And whenever the answer has been “No” for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.

Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything – all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure – these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.

No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don’t want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life’s change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.

Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma – which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.
I continue to be impressed with the employee-oriented, forward-thinking attitude of the Cumulo-Seven management team. Cumulo-Seven provides many wonderful opportunities for job improvement so if your current job is not satisfactory, work with your manager or supervisor to turn your job into something that enhances your work satisfaction – you’ll increase both yours and Cumulo-Seven’s worth. All the managers I have worked with have listened to employees and implemented suggestions where it made sense for the company. If you don’t understand what your manager is telling you, ask for clarification or make a suggestion. You may both come to the conclusion that the assigned work is not really accomplishing the desired end result. Cumulo-Seven is going in an exciting direction and if you having a burning desire to take your job to the next level, Cumulo-Seven will be there for you.

Hope to see you soon!

Thanks,
Bruce

========================================

4/21/2008 5:54 PM

Is it really 2008?

I just looked at my moleskine (portable paper journal) and saw how often I’ve written 2007, then written over the 7 with an 8.  Gotta get with the program — 2007, the start of my retirement, is over!

Now that I’ve retired from an office job, how do I find an image worth projecting that will convince people to give me labor credits (i.e., money) for the resulting product of my image maintenance?  My wife wants me to go back to work in a desk job type scenario.  I want a new learning experience to take me out of my comfort zone.  Do I manage the lives of others of continue the walk down the path of vocational self-discovery alone?

2/17/2008 8:55 PM

How Tree Trunk Productions-dot-com will work

2007-12-25

Website concepts for http://www.treetrunkproductions.com – idea carried over from yesterday while sitting in the parking lot of Highway 66 Shopping Center after church service at Rogersville Presbyterian Church and lunch at Charlie’s Restaurant:

Website starts with “Want to Know the Secret to a Great Life?”

1)      Figure out what you plan to do after early retirement,

1.a) How do you get there in the first place? More assets than liabilities – 401(k), Roth IRA, 72(t)/(q), buying stocks through e*trade, single stocks, inheritance, corporate buyout, windfall from sale of primary residence, etc.  Living trust and/or foundation to secure assets.   Medical insurance coverage.

1.a.1) How I got there – start with letter to coworkers

1.b) Travel/live abroad

1.c) Start your own business

1.d) Volunteer

1.e) Go back to school

1.f) Go back to work

1.g) Do nothing but watch television, read email and surf the Net for bargains

1.h) Get someone else to follow through on an idea of yours

1.h.1) Take survey about your mindset in relation to the rest of your life [backspace: create scoring method for survey]

1.h.2) History of Pruned Pear Productions (CB call sign, working as gopher for father’s management consulting business, home-brewed beer, self-published novels)

1.h.3) Discuss ideas in “Four Hour Workweek,” “The World Is Flat,” etc.

1.h.4) Why we’re here – to help you get your idea into action, including eco-friendly solution:

We believe everyone wants to live in a better world but doesn’t know how to start.

1.h.5) EXAMPLE: A closed-loop ecology.  Inputs=outputs.  Use solar or earth power (or create your own power using your waste) to grow your own food, build your own shelter, make your own clothes and devise ways to entertain yourselves in your spare time.  Can’t do it all you say?  Well, get someone else to perform the tasks for you and you’ve got to account for their inputs and outputs, if you want to conserve the environment.

References

Hammurabi Code, Confucius, Optimist Creed, “The Art of War,” “How to Win Friends and Influence People,” Napoleon Colline’s book, “Four Hour Workweek,” “The World Is Flat,” “Guns, Germs and Steel,” “Fifty Simple Things to Save the Planet”

X

Y

BASIC SURVEY – MY BUSINESS MINDSET

Give the best answer to the following statements:

A.                  I like going to work everyday

B.                  I like the social environment of an office

C.                  I like taking my lunch to work

D.                  I wish I had more time to spend on leisure activities

E.                   I want to be famous when I grow up

F.                   I like bragging about the accomplishments of my children/grandchildren/nieces/nephews

G.                 I like changing careers

H.                  I had good study habits in school

I.                    I take or have taken continuing education classes on a regular basis

J.                    I like to travel on business

K.                  I will have a successful career one day

L.                   I have accomplished all my lifelong business goals

M.                I keep an accurate account of all my business expenses

N.                 I regularly read books, magazines, and/or websites directly related to my job

O.                 I like the job I’m in

P.                  I have never taken office supplies from work

Q.                 I have set and completed more than one business objective this quarter

R.                  I understand my emotions during business hours

S.                   I like to go out to eat for lunch

T.                   I never work on the weekends or holidays

U.                 I believe I can perform a better job than my boss

V.                  My job requires a lot of good self-study habits

W.                I drive more than 45 minutes to work in the morning

X.                  I want to be an executive officer of my company one day

Y.                   I like to fly on airplanes

Z.                   I prefer an office with a window

AA.             I use public transportation to get to work

BB.              I believe my company is doing a good job protecting the environment

CC.              My coworkers have the same set of family goals as I do

DD.             I go home to eat lunch

EE.               I have never slept on the job

FF.               I like to check voicemail and email when I’m away from work

GG.            I always fill out my timecard accurately

HH.             The corporate officers of my business take good, calculated risks

II.                  I like to surf the Web at work for non-job related information

JJ.                 I plan to retire with enough money or investments to last me the rest of my life

KK.              I have never yelled at a colleague during business hours

LL.                I like to stay in high-quality service hotels

MM.         I have a side business that is not my regular source of income

NN.            I like to take long vacations/holidays

OO.            My spouse (or main sexual partner) works in my office

PP.              I often eat with my coworkers

QQ.            I have worked at more than one location for my company

RR.              I like to work at my desk most of the day

SS.               I like to attend meetings

TT.               I have always been a manager or supervisor

UU.            I like to know what I’m supposed to be working on

VV.             I believe I should earn more money for the work I perform

WW.         I think of creative ways to save my company money

XX.              Employees should only receive promotions for exceptional job performance

YY.               I thrive on chaos

2007-12-27

Offer the reader the free basic survey with an online view of the survey results and offer the reader the advanced survey but charge $19.95 for a personalized analysis of the advanced survey and a book that discusses the design of the survey and how it can be applied to a person’s post-retirement life.

The advanced survey adds another set of questions to the basic survey.  The analysis is a 3-D square made up of 8 sections.  The square is divided into two sides, with one side reflecting the No answers and one side reflecting the Yes answers.  Each half is divided into four quadrants.  The quadrants are:

OFFICE LIFE

FAMILY LIFE

SOCIAL LIFE

SOLITARY LIFE

The goal of the survey is to show the participant his or her propensity for working in a group setting or working alone and whether the work would be more enjoyable in an office or home environment.  The survey results will also discuss the person’s willingness to “sacrifice” personal desires in order to work in those environments.

 

BOOK TITLE: “Want to Know the Secret to a Great Life After Retirement?”
Introduction
Humans tend to want to socialize with people of like mind.  Even though we have retired from a primary occupation, we want to enjoy the positive elements of our lives that were involved in the workplace, including the friends we made and the habits we formed.  The post-retirement life should not require starting all over, unless the previous work life contained more negative elements than positive ones.  The only way to know for sure is to take time to evaluate the last few years of your work life.

Plenty of websites, magazines and blogs will give you the financial and health advice you need to survive in the post-retirement years.  For starters, here are a few that I’ve found useful – in chapter backspace, I’ll go into more detail about how to use these websites to your advantage:

·         WebMD

·         AARP

·         Yahoo! Finance

·         Forbes Magazine

·         Inc! Magazine

·         Wall Street Journal

·         Organic Gardening

·         AAA

·         DIY

But what do you do with a healthy body and balance sheet for the next 40+ years?  If you’re like me, sometimes a helpful guide will give you the hints you need to encourage you to look at yourself honestly, to assess your life in ways that just idly thinking about it before you go to sleep at night won’t do.

For instance, most Americans eat meals that provide many more calories than the meals they ate 30 years ago.  We don’t think about it very much even if we’re aware of the fact.  However, as our waist sizes increase, we reach a point where we can’t ignore it anymore.  Recognizing the weight gain doesn’t help us very much, however.  Instead, we need a set of steps to get us past the recognition phase and assist us in our ability to see what we’re eating, reduce the size of the meals we eat and develop a healthy plan to lose the extra pound or two we gained.  The plan takes us through the transition from a poor diet rich in calories to one that is rich in taste but lean in calories, increasing our energy and adding to a positive physical life.

The same thing applies to our post-retirement years.  We’ve focused so much on increasing our financial assets to reach independence that we don’t see the positive or negative habits we’ve formed in our adult years.  Why should we ignore our mental mindset as we prepare for retirement?  We shouldn’t.  Otherwise, we will hit a brick wall because we hadn’t built up the mental attitude needed to apply the brakes and successfully navigate the sharp turn off the fast-paced, corporate-drive career path and onto the more leisurely, personally-designed retirement path.

The next few chapters will provide the framework to help you build a life better than the one you dreamed you’d live after you retired.

 

CHAPTER 1 – DID I WORK TO RETIRE OR RETIRE TO WORK?
You’ve just come back from the luncheon where your boss and coworkers spent 30 minutes roasting you in a PowerPoint presentation using photos from old company parties.  You’re packing up the last couple of items from your desk that you hadn’t already taken home with you the last week of work – the photo of your family, a pack of half-used Post-It® notes, the scratched-up nameplate, and a company-inscribed pen – when you suddenly realize you have no idea what you’re going to do the following week.  Sure, you had joked with your coworkers that you were going to sleep late, work on the house and kick back a little but is that really what you want to do?

Like many of us, you’ll want to sleep late that first day off from work but you’ll probably wake up at the regular time even if you hadn’t set the alarm clock.  You’ll toss and turn and tell yourself that you have all day so why not get a few more hours sleep?  Instead, in the back of your mind, last-minute details of your exit plan pop up in your head.  You had forgotten to tell one of your coworkers about a spreadsheet that needn’t to be updated once a week or you were supposed to fill out a logbook of the last time you used the company truck.  You feel like getting up and calling in to check up on your new replacement.  In other words, you still have the habit of working.  You can’t help it.

Don’t worry.  The habit can be broken.

But do you want to break the habit?

Studies show that a habit takes [backspace] days to form.  How many days does it take to break a habit?  You tell me.  When was the last time you took a long vacation?  Were you still thinking about work on the second or third day of vacation?  Or were you still checking your email on your Blackberry every day?  Habits are as hard to break as you want them to be.

Do you like the habit of getting up in the morning with a general idea of how your day will go?  Or do you like the idea that each new day will present you with an unexpected flow?  Sometimes, it’s a little of both, isn’t it?  We want to know that our house will still stand and that our cars will still run but we don’t necessarily want to sit in our house all day watching the clock tick from 7 to 8 to 9 a.m. or get in the car and have it take us from our house to the bank, to the post office and grocery store in the same route and at the same exact time every day, passing the same people while we pick up the same items.  We like variety within the framework of regularity.

If you can use your work habits to your advantage in your retirement, why should you try to break them by changing your ways just because you’re not working a regular job anymore?

If you’ve just retired, don’t stop what you were doing!

 

CHAPTER 2 – WHAT IS WORK?
We all have a definition of work.  Often we think of work as something we have to do or must do in order to get what we want.  Sometimes work becomes an activity we enjoy because we get comfortable with the activity.  When we think about it, we may even like what we’re doing.  For those who love the work they perform on the job, I salute you.  You may never retire.  For the rest of us,

1/21/2008 4:27 PM

FLASHBACK: Post Partum Depression – Third Book Blues

8 Feb 2004

My third book is out the door, literally, having sent the first copy to my mother for her 70^th birthday. Although I dedicated the book to Mom and Karen, I doubt very much that either one of them will sit down and enjoy reading the whole book. Of course, I did not write the book for them but I am who I am in large part because of them. I would guess that my sister (sole sibling) and father would get more out of the book.

Sitting here now, in the relative quiet of the living room (gurgling of the 55-gal. aquarium, occasional popping of the kerosene heater, the hum of the heat pump, music pouring forth from the TV tuned to a digital music station called Soundscapes, the snoring of my wife, the hum of the computer, the ringing in my ears), I ponder.

Before I dive into the ponder, a moment to record my actions. Earlier today, I installed a USB/Ethernet ADSL modem, wireless router and DVD writer in our home PC. Hopefully, tomorrow I can find out if the wireless part works (the router works fine – I can surf the web and check email from the PC through the router through the modem, thank God). I ditched the USB ADSL modem which used the Conexant chipset – although the USB ADSL modem worked fine, I needed one with an Ethernet connection.

In a fortune cookie this evening, I read the following fortune, “You are soon going to change your present line of work.” I would like to change my present line of work but what am I to do? The vocation I’ve followed for the past nine years has been software testing. Certainly, I’m capable of testing GUI-based software – who isn’t? Seems like the software my company is switching to is command-line based, which requires more linear thinking than I’m comfortable with at my age and inclination.

In the past few years, I’ve seen myself build a wooden deck and garden pond. I’ve released my third book of writings. I’ve increased the work skills of the employees under my charge. I’ve completed my bachelor’s degree. I’ve attended numerous football games. I’ve encouraged my nieces and nephews to enjoy life. I’ve killed animals, plants and insects, both indirectly and directly, with my car.

I am who I am. I will not become someone else. I will not go back, I will not undo what I’ve become. I will one day return my body to the Earth, my last thoughts dying with me. For now, my thoughts live with me, sometimes falling out onto the page. Right now, I don’t want to take too much from the chance for my body to be something fruitful in the cycle of life. I don’t want to pollute the world too much. I don’t want to destroy too many living things.

How do I help myself and others have eco-friendly fun on this planet? I guess we all want guidance, advice from some One/thing/friend/elder/guru about the course of our actions and thoughts. I want that Other being to help me find the course of action that will enable me to sustain a living for myself while showing others how to have fun. I guess the point is not to have too much fun or so it would seem. However, I believe that I can find a way to constantly have fun (i.e., enjoy myself all the time) while not destroying/ruining others’ lives. Call it my nirvana, if you will.

What makes me question my chance of reaching nirvana is my tendency to be cruel, especially with the words I speak and tone of voice I use. What drives me to be sarcastic? Sometimes it’s the feeling of superiority. Psychologists have heard and analyzed superior attitudes many times over. At nearly one in the morning, I’m a little too tired to reach into my thoughts to realize the root cause of my sarcasm/cruelty. If I close my eyes, all I want to do is sleep. Guess I better listen to my body and ponder my path to nirvana another time. Maybe then I’ll figure out what to do with the rest of my life.

Random thoughts as I sign off:

• Record my banging on the piano/pump organ – create CD of the “music” to play in the car on the way to/from work
• Make cartoon/story around creation of backyard writer’s studio
• Create “living” artwork through picture frame of 14-inch LCD monitor; also, try turning Gateway laptop/subnotebook into B&W “living” picture frame (start with screensaver first)
• Just remembered – the cruelty/sarcasm is related to my inability to immediately express my feelings (especially anger/hurt) due to my lack of self confidence (worry that I’ll expose a weakness of mine or offend someone else); need more assertiveness training

12/20/2007 8:48 PM

Life as an active online writer begins…

Welcome!  I started a blog some years ago on a site called blogger or something like that.  I quickly got bored because I had no direction or no desired goal in mind.  Now I know the goal is to record story ideas and snippets for future novels/short stories.  No different than when I started writing in 5th grade.

12/18/2007 6:39 PM

New job

Storytelling fun begins.

2007-12-18

 

It was like a dream…  I got a job at Wal-Mart as a Volunteer Associate.  In other words, I could actually go to work at Wal-Mart during my off hours or nonworking days and hang out with my friends (i.e., fellow employees) and help them clean up, straighten up, etc., while I socialized with them.  Of course, I had to wear my employee badge.

One day, while I was bored at home, I decided to stop by the office (i.e., Wal-Mart) to say hello to a couple new associates who I knew needed extra special training to become good Wal-Mart employees — they were young and poorly educated.  To them, high school had constituted one big party, a social event that they cruised through with flying colors, thanks to No Child Left Behind.  Of course, not all jobs at Wal-Mart involve greeting folks at the door with a big smile on your face.  For the most part, the associate must perform laborious tasks.

When I arrived at Wal-Mart, I wore my employee badge. Naturally, I picked up some clothes that had fallen off a rack and hung them back up. A friend of mine, Shanique, saw what I was doing and helped me finish the neat arrangement of rows of baby clothes on the rack.  I felt a slight buzz and knew my badge had just been activated.  One of our shift supervisors, Theresa, came out of the security room and strolled by to remind me I had volunteered to come to Wal-Mart and thus was not on the clock. As I had been trained to say, I acknowledged Theresa with the statement, “I have volunteered to show up today and visit. I am not clocked in.”

“No pay, no benefits, no claims,” Theresa replied with a wink.  She spun her long, dyed-black hair around and flew on her broom back to Security.

Shanique huffed.  “They just got to throw that in our face, don’t they?”

“Naw, I understand.  It’s the law.  It’s Wal-Mart from us and us from Wal-Mart, you know?”

“I guess.”

“Yeah, if she comes back and demands I mop up a spill, I can refuse ’cause I’m not working for them. I’m here to see my friends.  At the same time, if I get injured, I can’t sue for workman’s comp ’cause I’m not officially working for them.”

“I’d refuse to mop, either way.”

“You shouldn’t do that.  Not if you want to get ahead.”

“I’m not going to work here my whole life, you know.”

I nodded.  She might be right, IF she took some of her weekly paycheck and invested in stocks or mutual funds instead of buying cigarettes or lottery tickets like everyone else here working for a little more than minimum wage.  We all had a way out of our predicaments in life WHEN we took responsibility for our actions.

I patted Shanique on the arm.  “See ya later.  I’m going to check in on the newbies.”

As I walked toward the front of the store, I reached into my pants pocket and pressed a button.  A HUD (Heads Up Display) popped up on the inside of my right eyeglass lens and showed me what the pinhole camera in my employee badge was broadcasting back to Wal-Mart Security.  A friend of mine had worked for the company that sold the new wireless transmission badges to Wal-Mart and designed a pocket interceptor to test the reliability of the badges. When he heard I was going to work at Wal-Mart as a volunteer, he thought it would be cool if I could see what Wal-Mart saw I was doing.  I had fun watching the world bounce by at the level of my belly button, as if I had found true enlightenment and instead of just contemplating my navel during a hypnotic trance, I had developed an active third eye.  I also figured out that people perform slight-of-eye tricks with their hands that my badge could catch but an overhead camera might miss.  Wal-Mart now had more staff on Security than they ever thought possible, including volunteers like me.  In addition, Wal-Mart learned that employees on the clock who tended to steal would most likely enlist the aid of their Volunteer Associate friends to help pull off a heist.  I had lost count of the number of associates who asked me to take a product to the front door where a person would step out of a passing car and take the item from me.  I learned very quickly how to find myself too busy to help them.  I always knew when I had been “caught” not assisting a theft because the general manager would swing by to congratulate me on doing my job sometime later during the day.

“Uh, Lee, what are you doing?”

“What?”  I stood at one of the new checkout lanes, crosseyed from too long watching the world from both the head and bellybutton level.  “Just looking at all the dried-up spills on this checkout screen.  You got a cleaning rag?”

Rqavi handed me a wet cloth out of his vest pocket.  “Say what you will but I like these old Wal-Mart blue vests.  Would you want to keep a nasty rag stuffed in your pants pocket?”

 

I laughed.  “No.”  I rubbed the rag against the touch screen, trying to remove some old ketchup-like substance.  All my right eye saw was the edge of a shiny metal rim banging against my badge.  I reached into my pocket and turned off the HUD so I could concentrate on cleaning.

 

Amazing how quickly the new equipment got dirty, especially considering that with the new electronic barcodes (called RFID), the customer didn’t have to remove anything from the buggie unless she wanted to bag up the goods before taking them outside and loading them into the car.

 

Rqavi stood and watched me.  I waited to see if she would offer to take over but she continued to watch me do all the work.  Being a new employee, maybe she didn’t know what needed to be done.  I rubbed my eyes.  “You know, my eyes are tired, Rqavi. Why don’t you take a look at this and see if you can get these stubborn stains off the screen?”

“Sure thing, Lee.  You shouldn’t have to work so hard on your day off, you know.  Wal-Mart does not own you.”

“I know.  I just like hanging out with you guys.  I’ll catch you later.”  I patted Rqavi on the shoulder and walked across the front of the store.  The two other new associates, Botto and Sheleopard, noticed what I had been doing and grabbed their cleaning cloths, polishing shiny metal as I approached.

“Hey guys!  What’s going on?”

“Lee!  What are you doin’ here, man?  Ain’t you got something better to do?”

“Naw.  You guys are too much fun to be around.  So how do you like the new job, Botto?”
A couple of years ago, I had run into Botto and his mother at a Special Olympics fundraiser at a local bowling alley. Botto’s ability to throw strikes amazed me so I asked his mother about him. She explained she didn’t know where he learned to bowl like that for she’d never taken him bowling before. She just didn’t have time.  Her husband had died in a car crash after a night of drinking, leaving her to raise Botto alone.  She worked two jobs, one at a local assembly plant and the other at Wal-Mart.  Early in Botto’s life, an educator had labeled Botto as an EMR (educable mentally retarded) because of his high forehead, oversized arms and slow responses.  She had accepted the school system’s assessment of Botto because it meant he got free after-school care, freeing up cash she would otherwise have paid for a babysitter.  She had found out about the Special Olympics from the after-school aide.  The folks at Special Olympics had invited Botto and his mother to the event, hoping they could interest Botto in an athletic event. As luck would have it, one of the bowling participants had not shown up so they asked Botto to fill in.  He took to the bowling like a squirrel to a nut, burying the ball in the center of the lane and hitting a strike almost every time.  Of course, squirrels never find all the nuts they’ve buried but that’s another story.

After the Special Olympics finished, I sat down with Botto and his mother to learn more about Botto.  His mother wouldn’t let him handle sharp objects like scissors or knives and he was Okay with that. He gladly let his mother cut up his roast beef and chicken.  The school teachers set low expectations for him, letting him play with building blocks after he recited the alphabet or picked eight different colors out of the crayon box.  Botto enjoyed the extended childhood that life had granted him. He knew that one day he would have to care for his mother so he had saved all the dollar bills that kind people gave to him.  For his mother’s birthday and Christmas presents, Botto drew intricate designs on building blocks or other pieces of wood. His mother bragged about the TV stand he had assembled for her with some of the carved blocks.

After talking with them for a couple of hours, I sensed that Botto had learned to keep his true intelligence a secret.  I wanted to test my theory and exclaimed that such artwork would delight my eyes.  Botto’s mother, Eta, invited me to see some of her son’s handiwork at their apartment.  I followed them to the new subsidized garden apartments in the center of town.  Inside the apartment, I instantly knew I was right.  Botto had built or rebuilt all the furniture in the place.  Without the apparent use of knives, Botto had figured out how to create interlocking strips and blocks of wood.  He had also created his own hieroglyphic language, covering every inch of the furniture with what his mother said were the stories she had told him about her childhood living along the Tennessee River as a grandchild of sharecroppers.

I continued to visit Eta and Botto, quizzing the both of them about Botto’s life.  Eta admitted that although she shouldn’t have, she had left Botto alone a lot as he grew up.  Botto didn’t say much.  When he spoke, he spoke slowly as if he had to summon all his strength to reach into the bottom of a well full of molasses in wintertime and pull a word out just to see if it fit into the sentence he had started.

“I… suppose… she… is… right.  I… had… no… one… to… play… with… at… home… and… no… books… to… read.  We… could… not… afford… a… TV… or… radio.  I… had… to… learn… life… on… my… own.”

One day, Eta had to work a double-shift at the assembly plant and left me to talk with Botto alone.  I told him I suspected he was a very smart man and just played the deaf-dumb-and-blind child act because it gave him freedom that the rest of his family had never enjoyed.

Botto smiled so much that the cold room actually warmed up and got hot. Had he not broken the smile to talk, I swear the dusty curtains would have burst into flames.

“Lee, you don’t know the half of it.  The only reason my family is in North America is because of slavery.  And I wouldn’t doubt one minute that your family had slaves.  Do you know how many of us have had to play the ‘yessa master’ role just to get by?  My mother got pregnant at 14 because she didn’t know she could defend herself from older black men who preyed on young black girls to justify their own beaten-down lives.  But, while all of y’all have been pouring your liberal white money into feel-sorry programs like the Special Olympics for ‘simple’ guys like me, I have been sinking money into the Chinese and Indian market.  I have more shares in companies in Bangalore and Beijing than you have in the U.S. market with your pathetic 401(k).  I can’t let my mother know that just yet. No, I want to wait until I’m 21 years old and surprise her.  So, yeah, I’m not as dumb as I look but I’m no different than the rest of the blacks in this neighborhood who have had to figure out how to get out of this mess that some liberal jerk likes to think is a form of beneficial social welfare instead of the regressive slavery that turns landlords into masters and ignorant tenants into submissive slaves.  With my body size I could easily have tried out for organized sports but why throw my body away for the chance of the lottery called professional football or baseball?  You know how many guys with bum legs and broken backs are wandering around this apartment complex too ashamed and destroyed to get a regular job just because they didn’t last long enough to make it into the pros?”

Botto slapped me on the back and laughed.  “Sorry about that outburst. I don’t get to talk much.”

“Hey, no problem.  I couldn’t imagine what you’re going through.  So who do you go through?”

“Huh?”

“Your broker.”

Botto smirked.  “It’s all online trading for me. Here, let me show you.”

Botto grabbed a pen off the kitchen counter and walked over to the TV stand. He drew an outline of one of the hieroglyphic characters and a four-inch square drawer slid out.  Botto reached inside the drawer and pulled out a tiny Internet tablet PC.

“Some idiot in our building had an open wireless link so I hacked into his wireless device and set a password. I also configured the wireless device so only  the MAC address of my PC could gain access.  From here, I opened an e*trade account and away I went.”

“Pretty cool.  But how did you figure all this out from just sitting in your apartment all day?”

“Are you kidding?  I’m rarely home.  I wander all over town and nobody notices me. The ones that do see me hand me quarters or dollar bills..as if people with poor mental conditions need pocket change or something!  In any case, I’ve been hanging out at the electronics supply store on the other side of the Projects.  Those guys there let me flip through their magazines, probably thinking I’m just fascinated by the pictures, not knowing that I’m reading the hacker articles.”

“Interesting.  So why are you opening up to me?  Isn’t that kind of dangerous?”

Botto put his hand on my back.  “Are you kidding me?  Who’s going to believe you?  I’ve failed every IQ test ever given to me. If anyone’s even given me the hint they think they know what’s going on, I play dumb.”

“Seriously, though, why me?  I mean, why bother?”

“Lee, you’ve got a point.  Look, I need to get a real job.  I can’t keep hiding my money in offshore accounts forever.  I want to get some sort of menial job that you white guys think would be a reward to me for your kindness.  I also want a job where there are modern electronics.  I don’t wanna work as a floor sweeper in an auto mechanic’s shop.”

“Okay, I get it.  Christmas is coming up.  How about Wal-Mart?”

“Not a bad idea, Lee.  I like your thinking.”

“Okay, give me a few days. There’s a Wal-Mart not too far from where I live. I’ll talk to the general manager and see what I can do.”

“I knew you were the one I could count on.”

 

Botto looked up from rubbing the checkout screen.  “Thanks again for the job.”

“And thank YOU for the stock tips.”

Sheleopard looked at the two of us.  “Whatch you two talkin’ about?”

“Lee… likes… to… make… fun… of…. me.”  Botto breathed in deeply as if he had just stressed his brain too much.

“Gotcha.”  Sheleopard wiped up a pool of water where Botto had pressed the cleaning cloth too hard into the checkout equipment, squeezing it dry.