Tag Archives: culture
Southern Living, rediscovered
While excavating further into the bowels of the hoards of our house well-furnished with modern antiquities (sounds better than junk or trash), we found a box of Southern Living magazines from around the turn of the century. Here are a few scanned samples for storing in our electronic pile of “historical documents”:
Meditative Moment
As the fresh, raw feelings of loss subside, more days between now and the death of my father than a week or a month ago, as I grow stronger because I savoured and relished the emotional states that passed through my body, I face the future in these words, more than in drawn images or recorded sounds.
As ethnicities spread across the planet and mix, their subcultures subsequently subsiding, the global culture defines itself spontaneously.
How do languages and their speakers survive in a homogenising dough machine, the yeast rising, the bread ready-to-make in the oven of a world in transition?
Do you like the flavours in an “everything” bagel full of wheat, pepper, curry, onions, potatoes, garlic and salt?
Where once the survival traits of one’s gene set ensured early death due to birth defects, lactose intolerance and gluten allergies, the current cultural fixation is to cure us of our genetic abnormalities when normality is a moving target on a Möbius strip of the toroid of life.
One may feel full of God’s love and empty at the same time — the louder one has to shout the words of one’s religion, the less one is believed to have internalised their meaning.
Thus, one may hate the world and love the world simultaneously.
The intersection of subsets of thoughts may clash but innovation and invention arise from the need to mate incongruities into harmonious patterns.
Humour is a single part of an artist’s palette if one is free to express oneself free of coercive commercial interests intent on generating more income than debt.
When a population is mostly freed from survivalistic needs, can the population long survive while pursuing selfish interests in opposition to population [re]generation?
Where are the protectors of the faith that the world is full of purveyors of the emperour’s new clothes that must be declared unsavoury and unhealthy to sustain a population which wants to be around thousands of years from now?
Humour for humour’s sake is a fool’s folly.
Art for art’s sake is a loser’s game.
An uninformed populace will obey the uniformed police without reasonable cause to question authority.
What are we producing to improve our future?
Every day, I wake up and ask myself, “What am I doing today that I’m here for because I didn’t die or kill myself yesterday?”
Some days, I don’t have a good answer so I research the reasons and ask again, knowing I’ll find the tiniest part of me that I improve that day to better answer the question tomorrow.
Some days, I state a plain ol’ platitude, let it sit for a day and look at it from a different perspective the next day, learning most often that I never know everything that I think I did the day before.
One day, I’ll die if I don’t kill myself first when I’m an old man whose tunnel vision prevents him from seeing the car heading into his path as he turns to drive across oncoming traffic on the way to his favourite watering hole, assuming I’ll be driving an antique automobile not retrofitted to stop me from making a traffic mistake in the first place.
There are a lot of days in-between to see how I, despite the errors of myself within the subcultural training I received along the way, can get from here to the Moon, Mars and beyond, one set of states of energy in a population of seven billion and growing.
Last night, my team of subsubsubbasement scientists showed me a new gun they had invented that senses the emotional wellbeing of the shooter and locks the trigger until one’s emotional state of misplaced anger has been subdued with neutralising pharmaceuticals embedded in the gun’s grip, thus preventing many murderous acts of passion by firearms.
Pop tunes remembered
Another found object — music and lyrics from 1909 by Carrie Jacobs-Bond:
“Sorry, your car remains in Park until we finish updating and restarting your vehicle firmware.”
A school bus with tinted windows and white roof speeds down our country road.
A buzzard circles overhead while sparrows, wrens and chickadees chirp in the winterised forest.
What is your definition of the true meaning of Valentine’s Day?
For me, it is no different than any other day — greeting others with loving kindness, knowing the universe is full of unkind, unloving, seemingly-random actions about to surprise us at any moment.
For my wife, this morning I cut down a redbud tree precariously overhanging our driveway and this afternoon dug a drainage well for our clothes washing machine wastewater discharge.
We ate lunch together at a local cafe co-owned by Margaret Hale Baggett, the daughter of a childhood friend of my wife, sharing with Margaret an old newspaper photo documenting the dedication of a flagpole honouring the Hale family, showing Margaret as a happy, young girl in a summer dress, waving a tiny American flag along with her family.
St. Valentine and St. Patrick share with us their fame and their legends grown large with time, stories embellished to fit the times.
Earlier today, I enjoyed a brief interview with Bryan Curtin from Aerotek about an embedded software engineer position, serendipitously occurring after my wife and I said goodbye to her hometown this past weekend, both of us ready for new adventures.
As the sun sets over Little Mountain, I look out the window at our place in the woods and wonder what [extra]ordinary tales wait to be told about our place in the universe…
We shall see!
Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone!
Thanks to Molly and Mr. Jacobs at Amis Mill Eatery; Matt, Chris, Kim and Dana at Lowe’s; Natasha and Elizabeth at Beauregard’s; Jenn, Harold and Joe at KCDC; Otis “Eddie” Munsey III and Charlotte Fairchild; John Jerdon; Melinda Miller; Mayfield Dairy tour guides; Maggie at Little Dutch Restaurant; Publix; Walmart; people who smile back for no reason.
Oops! I deed it again!
I woke up with a Brooke Shields Britney Spears song playing in my thoughts, the brief memory of a dream disappearing into the last hour — me, an author, at a book signing, sitting on stage as if at a rock concert in a large performance venue, people screaming my name at me for reasons I couldn’t fathom…well, who doesn’t like a good ego-boosting dream every now and then?
Thanks to Ashley and the “pretty in pink” tanned hostess at Peerless Restaurant in Johnson City; the owner/chef and daughter/server at Sweet Tooth Cafe in Rogersville; Aaron and Heather of U-Haul at Lender Services; Grace, Cody and more at Food City in Colonial Heights; Demetrice and staff at the Cupboard/BP; Ada at Capital Bank; Spencer and “Bacon” helping to unload furniture; Evelyn and David Carpenter helping to load furniture; Cindy giving lessons of International Folk Dancing [Greek style?] at the Legion Street Rec Center in Johnson City, aided by Brent, Marie and Lynn (with participation by Mark, Cindy, Julie and other smiling faces); Rogersville Sanitation Department; U.S. Dept. of Veteran Affairs; Rick Carroll; James Point; Annette at Sublett Insurance.
Soon, a house belongs to new owners.
Then, the story of our solar system as told to me by rolling the crystal ball down a shiny hardwood lane into bowling pins will play out here, the future safely looking back at us from that good ol’ 1000-year distance.
Thought taking me back into my dreams: why do I think that a salary is stealing from my customers instead of sharing the wealth of a healthy labour/investment credit barter system? — what is blocking me from profiting more than I have in the past?
Old 41 and 42 Make Last Runs, Closing An Era
Have you ever ridden on an old passenger train?
I and my friends, Ricky (standing behind me), Kevin (in glasses and checkered glasses), along with other classmates did, way back in 1969:
Some passenger train services, like the Alaska Railroad, offer the thrill of a nice, slow ride on railroad tracks.
Maybe a bullet/maglev train is in your future, instead?
When there is a world of choices, what in the world do I do?
[Personal notes. Feel free to skip.]
My mother turns 79 years young tomorrow, her first birthday without her husband nearby in 55+years.
When I get down to it, I have hundreds of social network connections, mainly revitalised via the Internet, but no one (no human) other than my wife with whom I communicate daily.
I verbally communicate with my mother on a weekly basis just as I had communicated verbally with my father and mother weekly when Dad was alive, although he and I communicated more frequently through email, trading “did you know…?” facts and jokes back and forth (with me having to remind him not to send NSFW jokes to my work email account or check Snopes before forwarding inaccurate “this is the truth because a friend of a friend told me so” emails).
My sister, her kids and my extended family communicate by randomly posting comments/photos on social networking software but I wouldn’t always call that a conversational form of communicating, somewhere between email and voice calls.
I have always enjoyed writing and was often accused by my employees of bombarding their inboxes with more email than they could read so they’d set up a special folder called “Rick/Boss” that they knew were emails from me they could read at their leisure.
I guess I was a professional email composer if not a professional writer/author.
After retiring from an office job as an engineering manager, I sat down and completed a few books that had grown or festered in my thoughts during business trips around the world.
I finished writing the books I wanted to publish before I died, one of them reaching the “Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award” semifinal level along with a review by Publishers Weekly, achieving my goal of a professional book review, no matter how good/bad (or somewhere in-between), and ended up here as a journalist/diarist in the form of a daily blogger.
Now, I have reached a point, well into the second half of my life, where exploring writing styles is of less interest.
I am comfortable writing at a level understood by those proficient in reading a variant of the English language.
Could I sit here the next 50 years of my life and do this day after day? Yes, I could. Possibly. But do I want to?
Well, that’s why I’m here today.
I have played with computer technology for most of my life. My formative years, not so much, unless you count battery-powered electromechanical toys as rudimentary computing devices because computers were mainframe monstrosities that my father used at work and I saw on television so it influenced my thoughts but was not part of my everyday life like kids today with computers in every room of their house as smartphones, smart TVs, smart appliances, smart homes, smart cars, smart toys, and PCs/tablets.
I tinkered with open source software, programming computers like a handbuilt Intel 8085 system in the 1970s, the Timex-Sinclair 1000 in the 1980s and so forth up to the Arduino in the 2010s.
I’ve played with a variety of operating systems in the process.
I post blog entries from iOS, Windows, Linux, and Android, for instance, but not in that order of frequent use.
I am used to a QWERTY keyboard but have tried a one-handed Matias keyboard and the DVORAK keyboard layout.
I am not used to thumb typing on a smartphone but have grown accustomed to swiping and pinching on a smartphone/tablet screen.
I observed the set of shorthand acronyms that first grew popular in BBS chatrooms and moved on to SMS but I never used them extensively myself.
I’ve watched minitrends of communication styles come and go in social media on the Internet over the last two decades, just like they bloomed and died in newspapers, pamphlets and magazines for hundreds of years, and wall art/graffiti for millennia.
With less than 50 years of my life left, statistically at this point in the affordable body rejuvenation market, what do I want to do with the rest of my life?
Do I have any skills the world wants and/or I want to share with the world?
Are there any new skills I want to develop?
Can I conservatively live on my accumulated wealth within the socioeconomic web I have financially supported and expect to be rewarded in kind as I grow older?
My days of listening to and buying [into] every pop culture product out there are behind me or fading away.
Or so I think because I look around me and see that the food I eat, the clothes I wear, the bed I sleep in, the computers I use, the cars I drive and the TVs I watch are covered with labels of commercially popular brands.
In other words, either I am comfortable with the brands I use or the brands are neutral/unimportant for the types of products I buy at a reasonable cost for my lifestyle/standard of living.
I am frugal to some extent but not extremely so.
I am content eating a banana and a handful of potato chips for lunch but I will just as easily go out and spend $100 on a meal if I’m in the mood.
My wife and I average a new car every 10 years for her daily driver. My primary vehicle is a 1995 model, a BMW, not a Kia.
The fact that we own and drive cars says a lot about our standard of living and expectations, along with a digital cable TV subscription, Internet data subscription, landline phone subscription, wireless smartphone subscription, and monthly bills for food, entertainment, electricity, water and garbage pickup.
We don’t pay country club or homeowner association fees. We don’t belong to a wellness or exercise center of any sort. We don’t rent furniture or appliances on a weekly basis, either.
We are two people, two cogs, in the wheel of life we call civilisation.
Soon, we shall have no more responsibilities for my wife’s ancestral connections, leaving my mother as the sole responsibility for a child to his/her parents, although my sister shares the responsibility.
If I throw everything away in this room — from the computers (TI-99/4A, Timex-Sinclair 1000, Macintosh II, Mac Plus, Macintosh 6100/66, iMac, Kaypro 2000, etc.) to the toys (model rockets, balsa wood airplanes, plastic model car kits, Hot Wheels cars, Pinewood Derby cars, stuffed animals) to the books (college textbooks, novels, comic books, business books, instruction manuals, how-to guides, coffee table books, ruled notebooks (both empty and used)), posters, photo albums, framed pictures, furniture, boxes of miscellaneous junk, etc. — will my wife and I be free to lengthen our list of choices?
When there is a world of choices, what in the world do I do next?
Go Criticize Your Own Subculture, S’il Vous Plait!
From an anthropological standpoint, every subculture is important to me because, as we know, it takes a group of dissimilar subcultures to perform more genius activities than a single genius or group of subculturally-similar genies (of course, not every genius is a genie but is every genie a genius?).
Therefore, it behooves me to celebrate the diversity of subcultures of our species on this planet rather than put down or try to tear down subcultures that are not like mine.
Subcultures, like languages, will languish if not nourished or nurtured.
I add value to my belief in a positive place for my subculture in the future by showing rather than telling.
On to the future!!!
Unto these hills revisited
I look up at the wall of plaques and artwork behind the student desk on which this notebook PC obeys the rule of gravity.
“Having earned the Eagle Scout Award in 1976 and desiring to continue to promote, support and apply Scouting ideals through Service Richard L. Hill II is hereby recognized by the National Eagle Scout Association as a member in good standing through the year 1991.”
I am Richard the second, not Richard III.
Once an Eagle Scout, always an Eagle Scout, but never having fought or lost in hand-to-hand combat on the field of battle.
There is fame in a name, if not in a person who bears/wears it.
There is a difference between a person as a distinct set of states of energy and a person who represents labels that local subcultures place or imprint upon that person.
When I was a Boy Scout, there was a leadership hierarchy that formed within our ranks, partially encouraged by the adult leaders.
Some of the boys naturally took charge while others were trained to accept roles of responsibility, however reluctantly, by ambitious parents.
Scuttlebutt, or rumours/gossip, spread between us as in any group.
The acquisition of badges and other honours was indicative of factual accomplishments, not imaginary or rumoured ones, thus separating the talkers from the doers.
The elected leader of the U.S. government, President Obama, stated over the weekend that he supported the integration of homosexuals into the Boy Scouts of America.
Boy Scouts
Boy Scouts is an outdoor program designed to develop character, citizenship, and fitness for boys ages 11 through 17. Through the advancement program and peer group leadership, Scouting helps a boy develop into a well-rounded young man. The Eagle Scout Award, the highest rank in Scouting, is recognized around the world as a mark of excellence.
Scout Oath:
“On my honor, I will do my best, to do my duty to God and my country, and to obey the Scout Law. To help other people at all times, to keep myself physically fit, mentally awake, and morally straight.”
The Scout Law:
“A Scout is … trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent.”
What, I ask myself, is “morally straight”? According to the Scouts website, morally straight means:
To be a person of strong character, your relationships with others should be honest and open. You should respect and defend the rights of all people. Be clean in your speech and actions, and remain faithful in your religious beliefs. The values you practice as a Scout will help you shape a life of virtue and self-reliance.
From what I understand about homosexuals, their sexual preference or orientation is set at birth according to their development in the womb. Whether or what environmental factors come into play during foetal development, I don’t know and haven’t taken the time to investigate.
I know that our local economy contains many productive members of what is currently labeled the LGBT community; therefore, my participation in the local economy as consumer/producer means that I benefit from the economic participation of lesbians, gays, bisexual and transsexual individuals.
I don’t know enough about gays/homosexuals to tell one from a heterosexual except when I see an effeminate guy who, I assume, is most likely gay.
I certainly believe that paedophilia and homosexuality are not synonymous, just like seeing images of guys dressed as women in all-male reviews onboard naval vessels means that they are probably neither transvestites nor transsexuals.
However, I can remember from my Scouting days the aversion of members of our troop to the effeminate behaviour of boys who tried to join but never really belonged and eventually quit.
There were boys who didn’t have the physically prowess or fortitude to handle the long hikes, who weren’t interested in learning the set of skills necessary to advance to the next level of Scouting, regardless of their manly or effeminate behaviour, and quit, too, so it wasn’t just the outwardly effeminate types who didn’t make it in Scouting.
Although I was a member of the Presbyterian Church, the Scout troop I belonged to was in a Southern Baptist Church, which was very conservative; in fact, after I left the Boy Scout troop when I graduated high school, our Boy Scout senior leader, who felt the church wasn’t conservative enough, went off and formed an independent church for the true conservatives of the community.
Which leads me to this [re]discovery, the existence of alternatives to the Boy Scouts of America, including Royal Rangers (which reminds me of the Royal Ambassadors of the Southern Baptist Church when I was a kid).
Socioeconomically, I have not a single problem interacting with any person willing to conduct business under the guidance of a sense of fair play, despite my subcultural misgivings about our personality differences, because at any time until a transaction is completed, either one of us can walk away and not see each other if we so choose, returning to our subcultures which rarely meet eye-to-eye.
We can suspend our disbelief in the existence of each other, or not.
We can be appalled at our reactions against or behaviours toward each other.
Often, we return to the subcultural practices with which we feel most comfortable.
There may be Scout troops where the acceptance is normal of boys who are not rugged enough or are too effeminate for the type of troop to which I belonged in the 1970s.
If the Boy Scouts of America accepts homosexual boys, it goes against everything I learned and earned my way to the rank of Eagle Scout.
When I was a teenage boy, would I have shared a tent with a known homosexual? Definitely not. I would have accepted him as a fellow classmate in public school and participated in school functions with him, even calling him friend, but in Scouting there would have been a separation between us that I, for lack of a better word or phrase, would have called a natural subcultural reaction.
In the public forum, there is a willingness to suspend our disbeliefs in order to buy and sell goods/services/ideas, where we drop our guards and reduce ours fears of others not like us to achieve socioeconomic goals, temporarily overcoming comfortable, everyday barriers we place to shelter the subcultural beliefs ingrained in us as children.
Would I be comfortable placing my child under the leadership of a gay Boy Scout leader? Not without understanding my son’s personality. If he, based partially on my tutelage and guidance of him during his formative years, was willing to accept homosexuals as people, I might, but if the leader was effeminate or in any way not part of my everyday set of subcultural practices, then probably not.
I had childhood friends who were gay. Some of them are even on my list of Facebook friends but none of them made it to the rank of Eagle Scout because their set of behaviours placed them in a different subcultural circle than the members of the Scout troop I was in and will be a part of in my thoughts the rest of my life.
My Scout troop at the Southern Baptist Church no longer exists. The Scout troop at the Presbyterian Church in which I grew up still exists, churning out future leaders on a regular basis.
I haven’t been active in Scouting for a long time. One of my nephews, a member of a local Southern Baptist Church, achieved the rank of Eagle Scout around the year 2000, while the other nephew, who belonged to the troop at my hometown Presbyterian Church, reached at least Webelo and maybe Tenderfoot but lost interest in Scouting, having other activities that he wanted to pursue.
Scouting is not for everyone just like public schools are not for everyone. There is more than one way for a boy to become a “well-rounded young man.”
What I don’t know is just because a homosexual boy can become a socioeconomically successful person as an adult, with whom I, as a person, am willing to interact and call friend, is he ever a man the way I was raised to understand that a man is heterosexual by nature? If not, then there’s no way a homosexual boy can ultimately succeed in Scouting, despite learning and mastering all the skills that Scouting provides, because he has no chance of subculturally becoming a “well-rounded young [heterosexual] man.”






























































