I ask myself…

…as I look forward to a week of personal technology-based project developments and dance practice, I ask myself, “If my happiness is dependent on my financial relationships with other people, what happens when my financial well runs dry?”

Translation: how many friends have I bought with money?  I can’t think of a single person who has called me up just to get together for pure fun.  Am I deluding myself into missing those who HAVE tried to contact me?  Yes, now that I think about it, there are a few friends, maybe one or two, who have called me once in the past year to get together for lunch.

I asked for the life of a hermit who has assertiveness problems in the presence of other people, afraid to ask people for help because I’ll then feel obligated to help them in their time of need when I’m not that helpful of a person, and I got it!

Guess that’s why I see nursing homes and assisted living facilities as fraudulent places to steal your money, huh?

Looking at my personality traits in the funhouse mirror is enlightening, downright depressing today…all because I didn’t have the nerve to ask a stranger to dance last night!

Time to stop beating myself up and, if I can, motivate my wife to eat lunch with me so we can practice dancing this afternoon.

If it weren’t for paying expensive health insurance premiums, my wife and I would be fully retired already?

The past two weekends, my wife and I combined a visit with family with a trip to the college football stadium.

This weekend, we visited with my cousin and her [second] husband, whom we have embraced as a member of our family.  He humbled us by saying we’re like the family he hasn’t had since he doesn’t know when.

The previous weekend, we spent time with my mother, my sister and her [second] husband, whom we have embraced as a member of our family.  He humbled us by saying a few years ago we gave him a present that was greater than any he had ever received before.

I live with a head full of thoughts, many of them self-deprecating, which science tells us is not an unusual phenomenon.

When other people tell me how nice I am, one of my automatic thoughts is that they must be lying to me to get something from me because I know I am not a nice person.

That thought alone says something — if I think it and have written about it more than once, then is that who I really am?

Is that why suicidal thoughts creep into my day, wishing the cruel, devious person that drives me out of bed every day would be dead and not influencing the world?

Our society is packed with history and textbooks discussing this very issue, offering various solutions.

The hope that drives me past my cruel side is that I’ll outlive my worst tendencies and die a happy man, having made one good contribution to our society at large, if just in one simple act of kindness I never knew about.

Otherwise, I’ll continue to be what many people refer to as one of their “weird” friends whose thought patterns run tangentially to the mainstream, running parallel occasionally through good brainwashing during my formative years.

Time for this set of states of energy to meditate upon the nothingness of the mundane.

Have a great day!

Yard Art Sculpture Update # ICANTKEEPCOUNT

After setting up an offgrid meeting with the powers that be, using a dance-with-my-shadow practice session as a cover story, I’m returning to the yard art sculpture currently in S-L-O-O-O-O-W-W-W progress.

Still on the to-do list:

  • Creating the metal framework for the arms.
  • Creating the arms with keyboards and computer mice.
  • Creating the body armor using old floppy disks.
  • Incorporating an 18-foot LED rope light.
  • Deciding how much animation to put into a yard art sculpture exposed to the weather 24/7 —
    • Phase/Version 1: easy, wind-activated response
    • Phase/Version 2: moderate, motion-activated response
    • Phase/Version 3: time-consuming, animatronic interactive response

Lesson for the day

If there’s only one thing you take away from this blog today, it’s this:

When giving a presentation to the military about new technological advances, make sure you first show how you’re protecting the lives of military personnel on the ground, in the air and/or on/under the water — technology is replaceable stuff, expendable, but people are not.

Sandbagging

How to maximise the local resources?

That question dogged us for many years as we planned our electromech construction crew that would “set up house” on Mars before we got there.

The mechs were fully capable of building adobe houses on Earth.

Water, though, was a key missing factor.

That encouraged us to find liquifying alternatives because we wanted to minimise the material we sent with the mechs.

We could have sent tonnes of sandbags and had the mechs build dry adobe huts under which our habitation modules would fit, providing extra protection in the Martian atmosphere, like parking an RV or caravan in a garage.

We challenged ourselves to create a solution that was both energy-efficient and easy to build.

Then, one day, after we had received the list of common chemical elements in Martian soil samples tested by the first wave of mech probes sent in the early 21st century to find suitable colonisation sites and entered it into our lab network, our semi-autonomous 3D printer on a mobile robot base started constructing an extruded Martian home.

Watching the 3D printbot create its own construction scaffolding was fun as it built a two-story structure that hinged and opened up to accept our current working version at the time of the habitation module that also served as transportation ship and landing craft.

Our Test and Evaluation department set to work calculating the wear-and-tear on the 3D printbot, estimating how many spare parts would be needed as the bot coordinated with the mechs to excavate Martian surface for the right ingredients, processing the Martian soil and then feeding the bot or its future equivalent the “right stuff” for habitation module protective shells.

To verify their theories, they drove the printbot and several prototype mechs out into the high desert, skipping a Martian landing simulation in order to focus on the printbot/mech adobe house construction techniques.

One of our lab personnel proposed commercialising the process, which later helped fund many of our side projects that we encouraged in case a crazy idea panned out and led to better procedures and/or understanding of settling Mars — whole desert communities were 3D-printed, followed by sustainable neighbourhoods in temperate zones around the world.

Sacrifices

My wife and I sat down and looked at our finances this afternoon.  I have done what I’ve always wanted to do — I put the desire for dancing above my need for hearing aids — I’d rather be deaf and move my body to the sound of music than be a cyborg with enhanced auditory functionality.

Again, the happiness of overcoming physical fears is almost impossible to describe, like I changed bodies last week and am a new man.

Time for this new old man to get off of his cloud and sleep!

Plate of shrimp, the prequel

What are the chances that two nights ago I tripped over my copy of “The Saga of the Sour Toe” by Capt. Dick Stevenson, edited by Dieter Reinmuth, and then today this story pops up in the news?

All I can say is thank goodness the universe was exists purely to create me and entertain me.

Otherwise, I’d go mad (no, don’t tell me I’m mad — let it be your secret you can keep from me!).

Tolerance for pain

Bai jumped across the colony’s esplanade with Shadowgrass.

“Mom told me that you’re one of the main reasons I’m here.”

“She did?”

“Something about your grandfather and a war?”

“She remembered!  That’s great.  Yes, my grandfather was a soldier a long time, during the period many on Earth call World War II.  He was a radio operator.”

“Dad told me about those.  Specialists who were responsible for sending signals between groups of people because they didn’t have a love/hate relationship with the ISSA Net yet.”

“Hmm…hahaha.  True.  But my grandfather is famous back home in the Philippines.  He was the man who first contacted General MacArthur, an American soldier in charge of many troops.”

Shadowgrass nodded, mentally scanning the information about World War II as they skipped and hopped.  “So how does that account for me?”

“Oh, yeah, it doesn’t make sense, does it?  Well, you see, my grandfather was a strict soldier which led to my father’s interest in discipline but for a totally different reason.  You’ve probably never heard of ‘Star Trek,’ have you?”  She watched his eyes flicker slightly.  “Well, I guess you know about it now?”

“Yes, Bai.”

“My father fell in love with the TV show.  It was like having his grandfather and all of his grandfather’s friends and uncles live the life of space soldiers.  When I was old enough, he made me watch every episode of the original TV series, all the spinoffs such as ‘Next Generation,’ up to ‘Enterprise,’ and, of course, the films as they were released.  Inside of you is a little bit of Data with a little bit of Wesley Crusher and Jake Sisko.”

“Mom said you were able to infuse my genetic material with the propensity for personality traits of fictional characters.  How did you do it?”

Bai ran her gloved hand across her faceplate, intending to but unable to rub her eyes.  “Did Guin tell you I used to date Brannon Braga?”

“Huh-uh.”

“Yes.  He was the one who inspired me.  I hope I inspired him some, too.  His place in Melrose, not far from the film studios, was amazing.  I remember one party he had, it was a food bar from front to back.  You walked from his kitchen to the backyard, which opened onto an English garden, and then the pool…the pool…”  She stopped and looked up at the Martian sky.

“What is it, Bai?”

“He said he put me in one of his scripts.  I never asked him which one.”

Shadowgrass flipped a few times in the air, bounced up and down like a kangaroo and landed in a three-legged stance.  “Did he write about me?”

“No.  You are my creation.  I mean, it was me who gave your parents the idea to call you their son.”

Shadowgrass flipped up in the air and landed in a standard bipedal configuration.  “That’s what Mom said.  But I thought you might know something else.”

Bai heard a note of disappointment in Shadowgrass’ intonation of curiosity.

“Shadowgrass, you are a part of everyone’s life, don’t you know?  You are the culmination of our species’ achievements.  Do you know how many kids on Earth dream of being you, able to change out body parts on a whim, with superstrength and superspeed?”

“Yeah, but…”

Bai nodded.  She knew where Shadowgrass was taking his thoughts.  His mother, Guin, had been a competitive boxer from an early age, trained by her father, a former member of the U.S. Marines, with assistance from his military and boxing buddies.  Growing up on a farm, she had been kicked and stomped on by calves and cows, raising her pain tolerance above normal levels.  She had later become a ballerina before switching to a career in rocket science.

Shadowgrass wished he had his mother’s natural abilities, and didn’t have his enhanced abilities that made him so much more capable than his parents.

At age two, he had completed his space exploration vehicle.  When his parents were two, they were barely walking and talking.

That’s why Bai had asked to spend the afternoon with him.  He needed encouragement to take Martian society to places he couldn’t believe possible when he’ll look back in a few marsyears.

She couldn’t believe she was with him herself, remembering the nights decades earlier, alone with her thoughts when she was at her lowest, torn between her French lover and being near her children on the North American continent.

She wanted to teach Shadowgrass to embrace his emotional side and use the energy he generated to plant seeds in his thoughts that would sprout into giant oaks in no time.

She had done that for so many other people.  She knew she could get Shadowgrass to, too.