Success breeds complacency. Complacency breeds failure. Only the paranoid survive.
Denial can blind.
It is a very important truism that immigrants and immigration are what made America what it is. We must be vigilant as a nation to have a tolerance for differences, a tolerance for new people.
Technology is both an end in itself and a means to other ends. When you figure something out and make it work, there is pleasure and excitement. Not just because the technology is going to do something, but because you created something with its own inherent beauty, like art, like literature, like music.
All art is in some fashion escape. It sucks you out of your own life. It absorbs you.
You must understand your mistakes. Study the hell out of them. You’re not going to have the chance of making the same mistake again — you can’t step into the river again at the same place and the same time — but you will have the chance of making a similar mistake.
Satisfaction doesn’t come in moments but in periods of time.
Privacy is one of the biggest problems in this new electronic age. At the heart of the Internet culture is a force that wants to find out everything about you. And once it has found out everything about you and two hundred million others, that’s a very valuable asset, and people will be tempted to trade and do commerce with that asset. This wasn’t the information that people were thinking of when they called this the information age.
Take a bit of the future and make it your present.
Tag Archives: economy
Genre
My wife and I watched “The Departed” a few nights ago. We had planned to watch it the evening before the Boston Marathon but opted for finishing a film already showing on the tellie, Torn Curtain.
Why “The Departed”?
Well, it’s that plate-of-shrimp type thing.
You know what I mean — you want a straight good guy/bad guy movie, go to the theatre and watch “Olympus Has Fallen,” only to have your interest piqued in another movie because of previews discussing the career of Mark Wahlberg.
Even though Leo D and Matt D are not your favourite actors, you agree to watch a film about crime, cops, corruption and punishment in the south Boston area.
Then, as luck would have it (I can’t say that the phrase “better bad luck than no luck at all” applies to the local crime scene on the streets of Boston right now), your interest is raised higher due to the conflux of life imitating art, art imitating life, life imitating life and art imitating immigration control acts with as much likelihood of passing as gun control acts in the Senate but maybe as much as the CISPA cybersecurity bill in the House of Representatives.
While the world watches video clips of potential suspects of the Boston Massacre Part Deux, we have little in the way of interest in the U.S. of the faces on bombing perpetrators in Iraq or Afghanistan.
Such is the power of the Western mass media owners, advertisers and viewers who want to prove their peaceful way of life is best.
Now, tell me again, which companies, according to Forbes, are the tops in the world right now? Chinese banks, ICBC and China Construction Bank.
I won’t wax the philosophical surfboard and ride waves of meditation upon the rise and fall of company values and families based on shaky loans and house-of-cards economics.
Instead, I take off my hat and bow my head, in respect, to the recently departed.
For them, there is no future on celestial bodies.
For them, our celestial body futures are dedicated.
For them and the billions before them.
There is no imitation for life, no substitute, no art form that replaces our loved ones.
But art and imitations can teach a lesson.
Are you listening? Paying attention? Can you afford the cost?
Local comments du jour
My smart grandfather and father left a legacy
In life, as well as in life, online, inline, offline, shoreline, clothesline, we plug in.
My paternal ancestors passed a legacy to me that they have protected for generations.
We share a deep, dark secret.
Many, many years ago, a man was given a simple task, an ordinary task, to protect a stash, a cache, but not at the Cash A Ranch.
The man, as a reward, received several jars and boxes of nails, screws, bolts and nuts.
Cigar boxes. Pill bottles. Coffee jars. Match boxes.
A hodgepodge of containers.
Not a spot of rust inside them but plenty of dust, dirt and oil.
Old, torn labels, barely legible.
A prescription for Librium.
A sticker advertising two premium cigars for twenty-five cents.
The man packed the hardware in a scratched-up trunk and stored them behind a clothes dryer in the outside utility room of an unassuming bungalow on a nondescript street in the subtropical heat of south Florida.
He told his son who told his son that the nails, screws, bolts and nuts were valuable beyond compare.
They each in turn reminded the other that the day would come when the material needed to see the light of day.
Or night.
Given the right technology.
Last evening, in the midst of a record-setting cold spell, the time, the date, the phase of the Moon and the technology were finally rightly aligned.
An autonomous submersible, shaped like a piece of driftwood, or the silhouette of an alligator, navigated the backwater channels of a neighbourhood canal, stopping along the reeds at the backyard.
A man, no longer young, slipped out of the house, unlocked the utility room, loaded the boxes, jars and bottles into the submarine shipping container and sent it coursing out into the open waters of the Gulf of Mexico where it will find its way up the Mississippi River, Tennessee River, Flint River and into a small creek to be picked up and carried to a house where a gold refinery will convert the bolts, nails, nuts and screws into the shape of gold coins from whence they originated centuries ago.
Am I that man?
At over a half century in age, I cannot believe I have become him.
The legacy lives on.





















































































































































































































