Ah, to have the balance of world power in my hands…to be a citizen of Slovakia…to [bleep]: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the drubbing the EU will take if it’s not careful.
Signed, Anonymously Alcoholic
Tag Archives: happiness
We Keep Our Promise
And now, as promised, an excerpted entry (or three) from Erma Bombeck:
From Trick or Treat…Sweetheart
Mentally, I began to draw up a list of rules and regulations that would give Halloween back to the little children. How do you know when you are too old to go “begging”?
- You’re too old to go begging when your mask tickles your moustache.
- You’re too old when you’ve figured out the only thing a penny will buy is your weight and you’re watching it.
- You’re too old when you drive yourself to the subdivisions.
- You’re too old when you say “thank-you” and your voice is changing.
- You’re too old when you are rapping on the door and
Johnny CarsonJay LenoConan O’BrienJay LenoJimmy FallonCarson Dalythe six o’clock news is signing off. - You’re too old when you reach over to close your bag and your cigarettes fall out of your pocket.
- You’re too old when you have a sign on your bag that reads, “Personal Checks Accepted.”
- You’re too old when the lady of the house turns you on more than the candy apple* she just gave you. [*vacuum-sealed at the factory, of course!]
= = = – ->
From The Seven-Inch Plague
In 1946, the suburbs suffered its first plague.
Its name was television and by 1966, it would enslave sixty-two million families.
The disease looked harmless enough — a seven-inch screen that looked like a hand mirror. We put it on the bookcase in the living room, got a vanity bench from the bedroom and positioned our eyeballs 16 inches from the screen where we became mesmerized as a full-grown woman carried on a conversation with two puppets.
…My husband’s addiction to television grew steadily worse. He became a sports addict who was in a catatonic state twelves months out of every year.
…Approached a lawyer to have him considered legally dead. [The lawyer] said I would have to keep a log of my husband’s behavior over a year’s period of time. I began to keep a diary in August.
AUGUST
The fifteenth of this month was visiting day for the children. Waiting for a beer commercial, I lined them up and said stiffly, “Children, this is your father.” He offered them a pretzel at the same time watching a beer can dancing with a hot dog.
SEPTEMBER
The set went out today during the Dallas-Los Angeles game.
I left him sitting in front of the black screen screaming and cheering. Maybe I can talk some sense to him when he is watching the commercial that isn’t there.
JANUARY
I’m terribly concerned about what’s-his-name. He has watched more bowls this month than the restroom attendant at Kennedy Airport.
FEBRUARY
Tonight, I slid into a nightgown made of Astro-Turf, and sat on the arm of the chair.
MARCH
He is alive (if you call this living) and is being fed intravenously on a diet of basketball, baseball, golf, and hockey.
There is something very unnatural about a man who has a niche in the wall and every day puts fresh flowers under a picture of George Blanda.
MAY
We put his mother in knee socks, shin guards, and a hockey face mask and shoved her in front of his chair for Mother’s Day.
My husband was watching a ping-pong game and granted her an audience for only a few seconds.
JUNE
In an attempt to clean out all the old things we never use any more, I realized that I had inadvertently set my husband at the curb on top of a rusted bicycle.
“It does a lot of thing,” I said [to the driver of the truck]. “It eats leftovers, contributes body heat to a room, and can quote more statistics than the Sports Almanac. We use him for a doorstop.”
JULY
“I’m leaving you,” I said calmly. “I can’t stand it any more — the loneliness, the boredom, the roller derbies, the golf tournaments, the snacks. I’m young. I have all my own teeth. I want to see a movie besides the Frazier-Ali fight. I want to dance and drink champagne from a slipper. Do you understand?”
“Shh,” he said, “there’s a commercial coming up. The one where the beer can dances with the hot dog.”
= = = – ->
And lastly, from The Suburban Myth
Take me. Please. My vocabulary has been reduced to five sentences which I mumble like a robot every day of my life. They never change.
- Close the door.
- Don’t talk with food in your mouth.
- Check out the clothes hamper.
- I saw you playing with the dog so go wash your hands.
- You should have gone before you left home.
The responses never vary — not in ten years of child raising. One night at a party, I drifted into the kitchen in search of an ice cube when a devastating man leaned over my shoulder and said, “Hello there, beautiful.”
“Close the door,” I said mechanically.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he progressed. “My name is Jim and you are ????”
“Don’t talk with food in your mouth.”
“Hey, you’re cute. I like a sense of humor. What say we freshen up your drinkypoo and find a nice, quiet spot all to ourselves.”
“Check out the clothes hamper,” I said brusquely.
He hesitated, looking around cautiously, “Are you putting me on? I mean we aren’t on Candid Camera or anything are we?” He slipped his arm around my waist.
“I saw you playing with the dog so go wash your hands.”
His arm dropped and he edged his way to the door. “Listen, you stay put,” he said, “I’ve got something to attend to.”
“Tell me you didn’t,” said Helen.
I yelled after him, “You should have gone before you left home.”
“Did you ever see him again?”
Never.
Mathematics after the Aftermath
A tiny, nearly-transparent, flying insect landed on the window screen, its antennae/feelers flickering in the sunlight filtered through yellowing hickory tree leaves.
A paulownia tree blooms on the side of a mountain gap road.
The smell of a small dead animal – chipmunk? mouse? – wafts through the garage.
Brown leaves cover the back deck.
The cats wait for drops of a liquid vitamin-iron-mineral supplement to be placed on their Cornish Rex velveteen fur.
The midmorning quiet of Monday persists.
Dreamlike memories of screeching animals heard during a late-night snooze in the sunroom permeate.
The rhythm of articles, adjectives, nouns, subjects and verbs reverberate.
Life breaks down, decomposes, into component parts, compartmentalised.
Waiting, too, is an illusion – the universe never stops.
Is there a sin tax on syntax?
While our fearful, carefree, swollen-ankled leader takes a few days to rearrange affairs, we, his loyal band of merry haclers, break into his account once again.
What shall we do?
If information is free but the control of it is not…
The best comment that totalizes a slate of comedy skits: “This is my house and even I want to leave!” “I live here and I’m leaving.”
We were offered a large sum of money and lifetime access to a private tropical island for delivering our stash of hacled info.
Does it defeat the purpose of freeing data to prostitute ourselves because of the threat of imprisonment if we don’t?
Hundreds died for freedom during the Arab Spring. What does that tell us?
This book belongs to the library of Caution: Contents Hot.
Bonus Bag! 25% More FREE! Taste this good gets a big thumbs up!
You don’t know the value of freedom until you’ve lived under a government of oppressive thugs who hunt you for their sadistic, power-hungry pleasure.
When did pottery makers find extra time to carve/cut/glaze/paint designs on individual vessels? We haclers know. Now you do, too.
Why?
Having worked in Ireland, I ask, “Why is the corporate income tax rate so high in the U.S.?” [by comparison]
Time to take a break. There’s an issue that’ll take a few days to resolve. See you on the other side of getting an answer.
To the driver of car with licence tag 47R96V8: pay more attention to the road and less attention to reading texts while driving. The life you’ll save will hopefully be mine! 😉
Feel-Good Link of the Day
If you don’t have a good book to read, read this.
Ginger, Bread, Man
Should we commend or condemn the inventor of the office wall partition?
What does the height of your partition wall, like the length of your belt, indicate?
In the knowledge economy, where knowledge factory workers sit in front of flat electronic panels and try to make sense of pixelated information, what characterises a sense of decency?
Is there enough oil in North Dakota to eliminate America’s dependence on Middle East politics?
What does Eurussiasia, Putin’s latest political alliance, mean for the future?
Will Oceania, Eastasia and Eurasia ever make peace in this postProust 1984 global conglomerate?
Now that my Arduino is controlling sensors and feeders, monitoring the nutrient/microorganism mix for individual trees and shrubs in my wooded front yard, will I influence the random interaction of plants and animals that give me a sense of decency while I sit in front of a notebook PC next to the front bedroom window?
Back to the ol’ circle of influence and control – do you keep your thoughts on what you want and off the things you don’t?
Do you set your goals as high as possible or completely out of reach?
Yesterday, after the ribbon-cutting ceremony for the opening of a large office complex at the local military base, I toured the facilities, greeting several people I know and meeting new ones in corridors and office cubicles.
Except for specific products in the pictures hung in hallways, I could have been in any office anywhere in the world, where artificial lighting, central heat/air, wall-to-wall carpet, suspended ceilings, cafeteria, barber shop, coffee shop, exercise facility, Internet lounge, conference rooms, windows with a view, water fountain in the courtyard and raised floors are the norm.
A yellow redbud leaf blows past the window like a butterfly on a mission.
One thousand years from now, what will the view from this part of the world look like?
One thousand years ago, we did not anticipate the globally-connected cities and military forces of today. We were primarily engaged in regional, not international, affairs.
Right now, we’re building the galactic equivalent of pea shooters, flinging little metal objects into various parts of the solar system, or up-and-down in our atmosphere.
The universe does not operate on the level of fair play and a sense of decency – we have created and imposed these imaginary concepts (is any concept not imaginary?) on ourselves.
All I can do is take the resources available to me, construct a viable timeline full of doable milestones in order to reach an impossible goal, and encourage us to achieve some, many or most of the milestones in our lives full of distractions and delays.
Hopefully, including bigger pea shooters that get us (or our reengineered equivalents) off this planet.
In the process, for those who want them, I will give you the opportunity to feel a sense of fair play and decency in your daily lives, using humour, history and future projections to nudge us forward in this storyline of our species.
Sometimes, when I’m bored, I’ll make fun of us insensitively. I would apologise for my behaviour ahead of time but I know you’re mature and strong enough to handle any unintended insult, respecting the right of personal opinion and free speech.
Well, there’s a call coming in on the MORTIE network – gotta go.
Thanks to Beth and Austin at Publix; Aramark workers, including Timichalla (?), Stephen Austin (regional executive chef), and the guy who said, “Pardon me, coming through”; Bub, Tara, Suzie, Haley, and Rebecca at Brookdale Place Jones Farm; U.S. taxpayers.
Branches Falling Off Trees
The two little birdfeeders in the backyard attract avian friends from all across the suburban landscape.
While I was verbally sketching out what the Book of the Future planned for our Martian expedition, a Committee member interrupted.
“Look, I understand the importance of longterm planning but we have a crisis on our hands. While we look ahead decades from now, we have an uprising of people protesting against financial elites. What’s to prevent them from declaring our Martian exploration project elitist?”
What can I say? I’m both an adherent and opponent of technology dependence, like everyone else on the Committee.
“Well, [name removed], do you have a proposal or are you just whining to hear yourself heard?”
“Good point. Actually, I do have an alternative. Why don’t we show sympathy for the protesters, instead of arresting them, and offer them jobs they can’t refuse? It always works in my line of business.”
“Ha ha. Folks, what do you think? Does [name removed] have a valid idea?”
A mix of grunts, nods, shakes and blank stares served as responses, depending on which Committee members were paying attention, tapping on their communication devices, using enhanced brain wave technology to converse with members of their subcommittees, or catching a quick nap.
= = =
In 2005, after a lot of “encouragement,” I formed a group we jokingly called Black Ops Network Services. We have an official name I can’t share with you unless you have a serious death wish (and those who have a death wish, let me know – we want to channel your feelings/thoughts for a special experiment currently in progress).
In order to protect the group, we use the acronym of the joke name and go by BONS, which has a special meaning to our entrepreneur members.
And yes, we get plenty of ribbing, hearing jokes about our similarity to a fictional spy, such that a catchphrase has caught on, “BONS, not Bond.” Also, “BONS, just BONS,” “‘Bond?’ ‘No, BONS,'” and some I won’t repeat hear here because of international censorship issues we’re negotiating to eliminate.
Members of BONS are found in all walks of life, most especially in such innocent places as nursing homes, retirement villages and independent/assisting living communities.
Take yesterday, for example.
I took my mother in-law to an Oktoberfest celebration at a local independent/assisting living community. While a three-man polka band played popular music familiar to anyone who enjoyed the Lawrence Welk Show through the years, community members ate bratwurst, sauerkraut, boiled potatoes and apple strudel. Some drank bier. Some drank Pepsi. Some drank wasser…err, I mean water.
I found a convenient place to sit against the wall next to my mother in-law and enjoy the scene. A couple of the workers wore dirndl-like clothing and danced with those who were able and willing to attempt the polka or a facsimile thereof.
Most importantly, I was there to make contact with some retired professionals, a few who worked for the precursor to BONS.
You see, one never really retires from the business.
We may look retired or act retired but we’re always working our network connections to ensure the greater good is being served up to the end of our days.
= = =
In this morning’s Committee meeting, I reminded the members, after getting their full attention, that we have the means to influence the protesters, using their parents and peers who are connected to BONS or its predecessors.
The member who was involved in starting the worldwide riots asked us to give the member’s subcommittee an opportunity to recruit some more people before changing the direction of the protests radically.
We’ll reconvene tomorrow.
In the meantime, I’ve got to find out from my BONS team how many mentally active former members of BONS’ ancestors want to influence global affairs again, even if they don’t [know how to] use all the modern technological means that BONS has at its disposal.
= = =
A nod to the family, friends and coworkers of Steve Jobs, a prime example of a positive influence on others, if there ever was one. Sometimes, the best way to change the flow of mainstream thinking is to build a viable alternative path using resources available to both mainstream and alternative thinkers.
Fau Vey
I haven’t played with a spaghetti-coated breadboard in a long time.
Amazing, those days I spent in my parents’ basement, looking at schematics and converting them into breadboarded computing systems, mainly with the RCA 1802 and Intel 8080/8085 CPUs.
In our day, switches, relays, light bulbs, and later, transistors, LEDs, “pots” (potentiometers) and other parts, mixing analog and digital signals for alarm systems, oscilloscopes, and finally, desktop-sized personal computers, occupied our idle teenage years.
These days, kids load up a GUI programming system and off they go.
We used to tune carburetors and exhaust systems by hand to improve our straightline and slalom speeds. Now, they use chip programmers to tune hotrods for speed and fuel efficiency.
They’re even flying electric aeroplanes that can carry human-sized “cargo.”
What’s next?
Will preschool kids take online courses like these?
How does/can technology improve an event like Oktoberfest?
I homebrewed beer back in the mid 1990s. What has technology done for the homebrew business?
Is the price for decreased demand in the marketplace simply higher unemployment? And is unemployment the words we really want to use to describe those who aren’t tethered to the flow of labour credits we call wages?
I purposefully retired in 2007 so I could focus on what’s important to me. Sure, that made me, an active member of the workforce at the age of 45, unemployed because I wasn’t relying on a steady stream of investment income to compensate for the cutoff of labour/salary/wage-based income.
However, unemployed does not equate to inactive.
I haven’t sat still for the past four-plus years.
I’ve written a bunch of books, blogged daily, consulted for a friend who wanted a formal test lab at his startup company, written business plans for potential startups, worked for the U.S. Census Bureau, donated blood, supported charities, aided my mother in-law and managed my investments that I haven’t yet tapped in order to build principal as much as possible before siphoning off dividends and interest in my old age.
I’ve also played with my childhood toys – electronic parts, books, RC planes, balsa wood models, hiking boots, electronic keyboards, computers.
All while staying in touch with my network of friends and associates.
Unemployment is a mindset. Lack of a means of paying for the cost of living and maintaining a comfortable standard of living is a practicality.
Should we expect our fellow humans to support clean water, affordable food, personal privacy/property rights and a safe, crimefree society?
Very little of my life is magical.
Pretty much everything has a ready explanation or a line of reasoning with which I can pursue answers.
Like snapping connectors into a solderless breadboard.
Or managing a whole species.
Propose a solution, experiment with a prototype, roll out an alpha/beta version to eager testers, observe and report, make a golden version for private/commercial/public use and go on to the next question(s).
States of energy in flux.
Convincing young people to serve in professional, paid, military roles to protect us from ourselves, serving hidden purposes for the greater good, including clean water, affordable food, personal privacy/property rights and a safe, crimefree society.
If you don’t know what you’re doing, someone will tell you or convince you what you’re doing, usually to someone else’s benefit.
Those who accumulate wealth for the sake of personal power and wealth are vulnerable to the barbarians at the gate whose lack of basic amenities denies them a sense of decency.
Are you serving yourself or others?
Are your states of energy connected at the self, family, subcultural, cultural, planetary, solar system or universal level?
Are you more interested in inflating your ego or feeding and establishing the egos of those around you?
What am I going to do with these wires, electronic parts, Arduino and breadboard that’ll improve the longterm survival of our species within the solar system ecosystem?
Unemployed? Not me.
I’m a set of states of energy in motion.
Fahrvergnügen!
After the Bridge Game
In the suburbs of middle-class America in the 1970s, adults gathered for bridge club games, serving hors d’oeuvres that showcased popular supermarket products and recipes of the time – crackers, soda, wine, cheese spreads, minisandwiches – while children played outside, downstairs, in their rooms or back at their homes while babysitted.
It was a special time.
Men and women reminisced about their college years – sorority socials, sock hops, late-night study sessions, sports injuries, choral performances.
Now, sitting in an independent/assisted living community with your peers, you recall both the college years and the ’70s reminiscing.
Your children, grownup with children (and grandchildren) of their own.
Computers, email, electronic social networks…words and phrases you’ve heard about on TV or read about in newspapers but otherwise completely unfamiliar to you.
Your time is free and yet paid for.
Still more comfortable with friends your age than being the “wise” [great]grandmother/aunt.
Social graces your specialty – polite discussions about sports, wishing all players a safe game, no extreme fan behaviour or rude demeanor; religious beliefs assumed, not worn on your sleeve like a badge; politics a personal decision, not an in-your-face confrontation.
In your day, this seemed to be the most common form of conversation.
Now, rudeness and crudeness prevail. Headlines blast drug abuse, sex scandals and economic turmoil like a disease run out of control.
When did the least common denominator become most prevalent?
Why can’t we raise everyone up instead of putting people down?
Finally, you stop subscribing to newspapers, magazines and cable/satellite television.
Instead, you increase the number of weekly bridge club games and reminisce with people who understand your desire to live in simpler, quieter, kinder times.
A lifetime of experiences you share and compare, not preach to younger generations.
treetrunkdings 