Getting old, can’t remember how to insert a table…

Have you ever forgotten the simplest capabilities such as inserting a table into a blog entry or how to create a macro in a spreadsheet?

Boy, am I getting older, not so much more forgetful, just more stuff to push to the front of my thoughts, letting the less-used thoughts sit in unused neuronal pathways.

That’s why I’m listening to the Cikada String Quartet on earphones while I write this.  Nothing like a little Kaija Saariaho, John Cage and Bruno Maderna to rearrange my thought patterns and make new connections to old habits.

I digress.

I came here to catalog a thought that bugged me while traveling a long distance between two cities.

What is the value of keeping my old car — with no monthly payments and little in the way of major repair costs — in relation to fuel efficiency of more modern vehicles?  Is there a significant difference such that I should spend time hunting investment-quality instruments to “play”?

For instance, my car gets 25 MPG (U.S. Miles Per U.S. Gallon) in the city and 30 MPG on the highway.

Traveling 25,000 miles a year back-and-forth to the city, I burn about 1000 U.S. gallons.

If I had a vehicle that got 40 MPG, I’d burn about 625 gallons.

A difference of 375 gallons, about 1 gallon per day.

What is my monthly cost savings using average cost per gallon for those 375 fossil fuel units?

375 gallons x [$/gallon] /12 = cost savings per month

$/gallon ….. cost savings per month
3 ….. $93.75
4 ….. $125
5 ….. $156.25
8 ….. $250
10 ….. $312.50

Therefore, by not purchasing a new vehicle with more efficient fuel usage, I spend about an extra $100 per month (ignoring new vehicle monthly payments vs. old vehicle average monthly maintenance, insurance, licence fees, etc., which would make the difference negligible (in fact, the costs would be significantly more in the other direction [it saves me money to keep the old car])).

Conclusion: I have no one to impress (no need for the latest gadgets, shiniest rims, sleekest lines, Internet access while driving, surround sound system or safety features), so the old bulldog, the baby BMW 325i, sits at the top of the driveway, ready to burn 25-30 miles per gallon at my request, saving me money in comparison to purchasing a new vehicle, costing me money in comparison to walking or riding a bicycle (since public transportation is nonexistent in my neighbourhood).  Now I can throw away that scrap of paper on which I scribbled the calculations!

Against All Odds and Ends

On a day like today, when tomorrow is predictable but unknown, surveying the rural landscape, fully or partially detached from cyberspace, seems more likeable than running a business on virtual land.

There are plenty of people and businesses to thank for welcoming my friendship and patronage but they will wait.

Balancing the location of one’s thought set is a perception, rather than a reality, resting on one side or the other of the verb, “to be.”

One may say one lives north or south of Birmingham, which may mean near an urban area in the U.S. state of Alabama, or the West Midlands county/conurbation of England.

Let us say we live somewhere and can sync our thought sets here whenever we wish, not precisely knowing everything about the universe in which we live but we’re willing to learn.

In other words, today is family time, with physical interface between people the key function, warmth of the Sun on our faces as real and simple as it needs to get, leaving the tools to blog behind us and out of sight, memories shared in voices and touch rather than text and tagged photos — some history lives in our thoughts only and for that privilege (quiet, unrecorded [down]time spent with family), I am most thankful.

Ever wonder…

…why we spend billions/trillions of dollars on drone killing [alleged] members of al Qaeda in Pakistan, Yemen and Afghanistan, who are responsible, at most, for a few thousand dead one time in the U.S. (and a few billion dollars in [re]construction costs) but we seem to make no effort, on any advertised regular basis, to drone kill those in Mexico and other countries south of the U.S. border who are responsible for the loss of thousands of U.S. lives yearly and billions upon billions of dollars in lost wages, sick leave, hospital healthcare costs, and untimely early deaths due to the [illicit] drug trade?

…why Ray Bradbury waited until the day after the Venus transit to die?

…why species migration/extinction is “bad” rather than par for the course in Earth’s history? [assuming, for the sake of this argument, we are no more important a species on this planet than any other]

…why we aren’t working faster to build an Ark to set up alternative colonies on the Moon and Mars?

…why block-shaped rooms are popular forms of internal living habitats for many of us, when our bodies are not block-shaped?

…why a government that tries to stabilise the population for the sake of the leaders and the leaders’ supporters by controlling what people can and can’t say in public discourse is considered censorship but no government is great/strong enough to stop the Sun from shining?

…why we have to make sense at all when all civilisations are bound to fail, no matter how civilised we tried [not] to be to each other as one generation followed another into history?

…why three dots indicate [a lack of] continuity?

…why we spend so much time and money on blogs and other avenues of entertainment like these in the moments of idle distraction between the times we need to eat, sleep, and protect ourselves from inclement weather, instead of doing something else?

…why “why” is “why” and not some other word, sound, or set of states of energy to question why?

…why the Wandering Wondering meditates?

Taking a break from blogging this week

I want to contemplate the universe silently, listen to the sounds of our planet, and investigate the possibilities of “broken heart” syndrome (the feeling of uselessness that job loss and lessening family responsibilities may have played in my father’s untimely death).

I’ll be back next week sometime.

Congrats to SpaceX on completing the ISS resupply mission successfully.  Won’t be long before they can transport people into orbital vehicles, eh, Mr. Bigelow?

Blog correction: thanks to a reader for pointing out that it wasn’t an Armitron, it was a Casio watch I once owned that squeaked several musical phrases as alarms.

Will keep viewing the dozens of blogs I follow to see how Earth influences our species’ actions in cyberspace.

A Box of Old Baby Dolls

In the quick succession of events we call life, when we say one event or another is more memorable than the rest, do we take time to notice our thought processes and how they influence future events?

Have you ever heard a child request a toy, then you saved your hard-earned money to buy the toy and felt more affinity for the toy than the child ever did?

While butterflies chase each other through the woods and a bird tries to catch one of the butterflies in its mouth, I wonder about opportunity costs.

I finally read about the race called the 2012 Indianapolis 500 and the exciting story of dramatic turns of events during the race.

Instead of watching, on the day of the race I helped my wife’s extended family fix up the house and grounds that belonged to my wife’s mother and now belongs jointly to my wife and her brother’s children.  [I would have enjoyed watching the race in memory of my father but chose not to this year, my father having expired mere days before.  There’ll be other races during which I’ll recall motorsports events my father and I shared, shedding a tear or two of happiness AND sadness.  I could have spent time with my mother that day, also, but didn’t.]

My in-laws closely managed their finances, creating a legacy to give their children, including a box of old baby dolls that were purchased for my wife and a house left to my wife and her brother.

The dolls have lost all but their sentimental value, reaching the state where entering the city dump or landfill is their final destination.

The house retains both real and sentimental values, carrying on the legacy that my wife shares with the children of her deceased brother — her niece and nephew.

In the age-old, perennial complaints/comments about the way our children and grandchildren never completely appreciate the sacrifices made to give them the clothes on their backs and the toys in their room, my wife and I virtually face our adult-aged niece and nephew, wondering where they were when we needed them most to help them honour their father’s legacy.

The cycle of life…sigh…

Little time to mourn my mother in-law before my father died.

Now I have a wife and a mother to separately help not only with the grieving process but also the financial/legal hurdles that our society places in front of us to ensure the government gets its [un]fair share of carefully-tended legacies and insurance companies give out as little as they can to protect shareholders more than policy holders.

I was a great-nephew once, living less than 15-minutes drive from a great-aunt who could have used my assistance.  Instead, I was a frivolous college student more interested in having a good time with my friends.  Thankfully, my great-aunt changed her will and essentially cut me out, teaching me that ignoring a family member in need has consequences in the here-and-now, if not the afterlife.

Love has no price, no matter how painful the loss of a monetary inheritance may feel.

If we’re lucky, we innately know to give love unconditionally, buying toys for children who may never know the price we paid in money but more importantly in time sacrificed on the job to put toys on layaway when budgets were tight.

Hopefully, we teach our children that time spent together with family is more precious than objects like toys or houses.

Although toys, houses, and rooms full of antique furniture have their value, too.

I now own a suitcase full of shirts that belonged to my father, including his favourite blue, short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt.  I cherish them but I’d trade them in a heartbeat for another chance to sit with my father or hear him talk German with a stranger on the street.

I have a box of his unfinished balsa wood airplanes on a stack of boxes behind me.  It’s up to me to finish one of the planes and pass it on to his grandson who will never know the love of airplanes my father and I shared for the first 50 years of my life.  I know it’ll just be a toy airplane my nephew will probably think his middle-aged uncle poured a lot of old-fashioned sentiment into, wondering where he’ll put it in case I ask about it ever again.

That’s just the way life goes.

I sure miss my father today…one of his first childhood balsa wood planes sits a few feet away from me, gathering dust, its engine long since clogged with old fuel.  The only thing of his father I have is a U.S. Navy knife and leather holster.  I have nothing of his father’s father, not even memories.  I knew my father’s mother’s father but have nothing of his, either, except a story or two my father told — there are handmade garden tools and kitchen gear of his still around, though.

Otherwise, we pass this way once and are quickly forgotten.

Our business is with the living, our moments together more important than memories of those moments, which will fade soon enough.

At my funeral, will people say “I remember Rick’s blog and how it changed my life” more than “I remember Rick talking to me every day and how important he made me feel when he recalled something I’d told him in person once before?”

I have one foot in and one foot out of social media.  I don’t want to predict 1000 years from now whether our virtual lives will have stronger emotional impact than our physical connections but take me away from this computer and all the social network connections of the world quickly fade from my memory because I never held them in my hand, patted them on the back, smelled their perfume/cologne/body odours or noticed their unique personalities up close.

Will social media be like a box of old baby dolls one day, easily thrown in the trash, its opportunity cost and sacrificial price quickly forgotten?  If you ever used a BBS, you already know the answer.

A World of Ideas, or an Idea of Worlds?

How much of what goes on in our species is necessary for you/me/us to go on?

How much more austerity is necessary for a place like Greece to endure in order to inspire real innovation for change?

Simply pouring government funds, part of which is covered in taxes, does not make those holding the vessel which collects the funds (users of the money) more efficient and thus profitable.

Terms like bonds, taxes, government treasury bills and loans float through the airwaves constantly.

And then a spacecraft, nicknamed Dragon (with many a symbolic meaning there), is grappled and floats in unison with the ISS.

Racecar mechanics race against time to prepare for the big race.

Race itself is a a term with many a symbolic meaning.

But these are words in one language.

We see terms, symbols, memes, languages, and other sets of states of energy as we see fit.

We may have a fit in the process.

The storyline of the Committee picks back up again.

We are 8.5 strong, adding PegLegs to the mix.  The 0.5 has grown into the 0.65, becoming more adultlike and responsible every day — when it reaches 1.0, we remove a member from the Committee.

Attrition may place its part ahead of time.

What’s next on the Committee’s agenda?

A balancing act, of course.

Expanding our knowledge and experience in the known universe, as usual.

Always weighed against personal loss.

Celebrating the simplest of events, like digging up an old boxwood bush with a shovel and cutter mattock.

Or welcoming the 1000th guest onboard a space hotel.

Today, we finished plans for the cruise ship that travels from Earth to the Moon and back again regularly.

Frequent launches from our planet to the cruise ship allows guests to spend time in space, with many dropping to the Moon for extended holidays and business trips.

Sure, a few find the travel inconvenient, wasting valuable time commuting between laboratories where robotic surrogates cannot complete assignments in ways that our species can.

We have not totally given over our toughest jobs to robots.

Robots have not totally resigned themselves to being outside the realm of our species’ capabilities.

Long ago, we crossed the threshold where the difference between cybernetic humans and robots with human body parts is indistinguishable.

Still, there are areas of the human brain that have not been fully duplicated.

We no longer call the synergy of these areas intuition.

Instead, we focus on the data complexity and efficiency of neuron transmission and information storage within a single brain, as well as the meme set carrying capacity of [sub]cultures.

A brain does not operate in a vacuum.

But students at age three already know this.

Why am I repeating myself, then?

Good question.

I chose not to enhance my central nervous system.

I am an old man, willing to face the deterioration inherent in brain cell loss and reduced cardiovascular functionality associated with a naturally aging body.

I have never lost the thought set of self-importance.  There is not a point in my narrative, like retirement or worker status/title, that indicates a change in my usefulness.

I can manage a group of hackers, police officers, counterterrorism agents and freedom fighters within the same brain.  I can create crime and prevent crime in the same sentence.

I can promote diplomatic solutions and bomb innocent villages between heartbeats.

I can act the dove and the hawk, the liberal and the conservative, at the same time.

The role of the Reluctant Leader in this storyline demands no less.

Happiness is sitting quietly, thoughts spinning in and out of consciousness.

Happiness is giving orders at a rapid pace that is still too slow to keep up with the seven billion thought sets that make up our species.

Forgetfulness is part of the solution, not part of the problem, a key variable in the equation of life.

We remember so that we can forget.

We forget so that we can remember.

We create wars in order to create warriors who become heroes who create peace which fosters a need to create wars again.

Have you wondered why someone could make a profit off the taxes you have to pay your government?

Shouldn’t the profit be used to refund your taxes, not create new taxes to be paid on profit earned or siphon taxes out of your local economy?

Austerity is just a word.

Just like poverty or prosperity.

Or planetary settlements.

Ideas.  Visions.

Were Spanish missions in California a mission from God?

What’s missing in that sentence?

Have geeks already inherited the earth?

Do proofreaders with pens scratch out a living?

Who is responsible to give you a job?

What is a job?

What is a living?

If the efficiencies of modern society eliminate the need for many of the seven billion of us, what do we do in the meantime?

Are we means-tested in realtime?  How do we create the sense of wellbeing — usefulness — when contract work and part-time jobs are the norm for the majority?

How many of us can handle the day-to-day competitiveness of us not only against each other, but also against the excess capacity of just-in-time automated manufacturing?  Or hoarded profit holdings?

Can you compete against the noise of everyday life, wanting just to be able to hear yourself, let alone find something to eat, clothes to wear and a place of your own to lay down your head and sleep?

If you had ten children, would you constantly ask, “If I only had food for two of my kids to survive, which ones would it be?”  Would you love the other eight any more or less?

What about two or three billion out of nine billion?

A Touch of Class

In this rift, this gap, this space between decision tree branches, when one (me) finds the time to contemplate the past and its affected future (the effect may affect or feign affection), the meditative moment blinds.

Is blinded.

Opens the drapes and pulls the blinds.

‘Tis what is.

Here.

Now.

My father’s breaths approaching their last.

At some point.

Sunrises and sunsets counted in ones.

One day at a time.

One hour.

One minute.

One second.

More thanks to make but they’ll have to wait.

I have my goodbyes to take.

An evening to meditate.

Mein Vater zu danken und zu verabschieden, um die unbekannten Welten können wir Ruhe und Gelassenheit …

…if only he could have the strength to correct my grammar one more time!

Hair on the skin of a planet

Have you ever been a breeze, running your invisible fingers over the tops of trees like running your fingers over the hairs of your arm?

Have you ever run your fingers over the stubble of a shaved face like feeling the stumps after a field of trees was cut down for lumber?

Lain down on a rock, a beach, a meadow like a sheet of rain or a blanket of snow?

Squirrels and birds hop from limb to limb in the wet forest this morning.  They feed on seeds and insects.  They will feed others soon — their offspring, their predators, and the tiny organisms they carry throughout their lives that will feed on their carriers after they die, inviting flies and more beings that adapt and find feeding niches in their lifecycles.

The terms “war” and “peace” are like that, adapting to changing circumstances like street slang.

We cannot see ourselves as sets of states of energy in flux.

In a recent test of an augmented reality app for a company designing a combined hearing aid and smart sensor eyeglasses set, our team was surprised at the fun we found in watching data of passersby flash on the imaginary screen in front of us, giving us instant access to walking biographies, real or made-up.

I can’t say I’m interested in knowing the person sashaying in front of me cuts her toenails with kitchen shears or cries during wrestling matches because her father died in the ring when she was five years old.

But somebody does…a future lover, a merchandiser, an author, or a rival.

Do you know how many people live more in an imaginary world than in the real world around them?  How few don’t?

What is your definition of a hero?  A villain?  A person at peace?  Someone who is successful?

What is success?  Can you lead the world from a cabin in the woods or must you live in an opulent palace surrounded by guards and courtiers?

When a planet is conducive to a comfortable lifestyle, why leave?  Why not?

It’s Hip to be Square

I smell cat food on my fingers and popcorn on my breath.
I see squiggly lines in front of me and hear the heat pump hum.

How long does it take to recover from mourning the death of my father’s mind?

Minds do not exist, in the classic sense.

It’s a game of cat-and-mouse.

Dagger and cloak.

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer…

For whom the bell tolls.

My father served in the 4th Infantry, long before this 1970 report summarised lessons learned.

He is alive and yet not alive.

That is, he who was he is not he any longer.

Him who was is no more, but not nevermore.

‘Tis memories I relive in my current/future living.

There are memories to be made, observations to make, medical diagnoses to contemplate.

And/but yet.

Edgar Allan Poe went to West Point.  He died at 40 years of age.

Soon, I will be 50 years young, halfway to 100, where life starts all over again.

Like a paper folded in two.

Or a projectile at the top of its trajectory.

My father is one pathway of my life 27 years from now.

One way the past is the future all over again.

A paddled cruise down the Sipsey River, for instance — same places, new water, new trees, new wildlife.

Heard a barred owl in the woods behind the house this evening while Merlin (the cat) snoozed on my lap in the sunroom.

How many generations of owls and cats have passed in 50 years?

Or 77?

How many more in 100?

A Planet of Self-Actualised Individuals

First of all, a big “Thanks!” to Terry at the AT&T landline phone repair group.

Although Trish and Trina of AT&T weekend support had great phone voices when I talked to them about my home landline having problems, they simply saw (presumably on computer screens) a report that my landline was fine, which they courteously reported back to me on the AT&T mobile phone I used to report unacceptable issues with my AT&T landline.

Unfortunately, friendly as they were, it did not solve the landline problems of strange pops, clicks, hums and, intermittently, no dial tone and/or no ADSL service.

Terry drove 35-40 miles across town yesterday and investigated the problem.

It appears, from his description, that a bad card in the box down by the highway (a DSLAM, perhaps?) was the source.  In any case, he swapped the landline connection to a different port and Voila! service as clear as a bell (Ma Bell to the rescue) and quiet as a mouse (no squeaks, though) are the lack of sounds I like to hear.

Terry, you’re my wife’s Hometown Hero of the Day!

Many more to thank, but on to other matters, next…

What does it take to make you happy?

In a network of seven billion people, how many do you know who do not seek material wealth or social/public accolades, finding, instead, a deep sense of self-worth and self-satisfaction by simply living in the moment, irregardless of current circumstances?

When you tell a species, that has developed a way to externalise the internal imagery a central nervous system has nurtured through social and self education, to let loose on an individual basis, putting social conforming norms aside, what do you get?

Does the species create a new thought process that makes former definitions of success irrelevant?

What about those who still seek the old ways of defining glory?

What about subcultures that depend upon forceful means for maintaining their existence?

Some will defend their subcultures to the death.

Some will accept/believe that enough people in their subculture want to perpetuate their peaceful means/way that they feel no need to defend themselves, accepting newcomers with differing beliefs into their lives, letting their day-to-day activities, rather than words or force, serve as examples.

In fact, our personality traits define the subcultural practices to which we best belong or toward which we tend to gravitate.

We do not choose the influences upon us during our formative years.

For a few years, we are nearly helpless, defenseless, and then, as we become aware of our individual strengths/weaknesses, we not only react to our environment, we proactively shape our environment.

As a child, I was raised primarily in a suburban environment.

When I was strong enough and tall enough, my father placed me behind a lawnmower and told me to get to work.

Eventually, I performed the lawnmowing duties for my neighbours, pricing my work according to the financial means I perceived — the elderly, retired lady next door paid me a few dollars but I was more grateful for the glass of fresh, cold lemonade or iced tea she made me than the money — I was taught that mowing was not just a job but a form of social duty.

Every dollar I earned was one less dollar my parents felt obligated, up to a point, to provide me to maintain the lifestyle of a suburban teenager who liked to walk to the store and buy a candy bar, one or two bottles of soda, a pack of chewing gum and a comic book, sharing them with my friends who got their money in ways I never thought to ask.

Meanwhile, national governments motivated military troops to maneuver into position in official war zones to protect and define the lines that divided major lifestyles because the idea of global economic trade had not been fully fleshed out yet.

That was then, this is now.

Kids still mow lawns, with girls as likely to stand behind the self-propelled mower as boys.  Just as common are professional lawncare service companies that sweep through neighbourhoods, mowing grass, trimming hedges, planting flowers and rearranging topiary animal displays.

Enough profit is generated by our modern global economy to free up millions of people from work, and thus their social duty, if they don’t want to.

“Free up?”

We still have to breathe, eat and sleep so we are not free from our bodily needs, no matter how financial and mentally secure we may be.

We are free to exercise our imaginations.

More and more often, we are free to express our imaginations publicly.

In a global economy, what is the connection between the general culture where global economic activity takes places and the subcultures that were once isolated from each other when warzones were acceptable means of controlling subcultural interaction?

A popular term right now is “Internet censorship.”

Every subculture has terms and ideas that are taboo.

Hate crimes, deity insults, unapproved bombings/killings, unsanctioned robbery/theft…

We redefine our actions in accordance with subcultural rules.

Behind every wall is a person who doesn’t want to be there for one reason or another, if only for a brief moment.

The grass is always greener on the other side.

Many rules/laws define my existence at this moment — grammar rules, computer operating system rules, the law of gravity, the local/state/national/global rules/laws that govern my ability to communicate across an interplanetary electronic network…

I see friends and acquaintances come and go as Internet firewalls are loosened/strengthened because of the perception that governments feel the need to protect subcultural taboos, defending their lifestyles, including mine.

All of the actions of my species I take into account as I look back at us 1000 years from now, seeing how we became who we will be (or are, depending on perspective).

Once colonies become independent, like children, they redefine their ideas of self, sometimes maintaining previous definitions and sometimes stretching their imaginations toward something we can’t imagine today.

One day, we see the visible light and invisible energy of galaxies as the foam on the sea of the universe, and the next day, we declare that perhaps the galaxies are all there is out there — mathematical formulae created imaginatively and then tested against observation.

Either way, we’re still a superset of states of energy that calls itself a species that depends on other species that live on/in us to give us the freedom to say we’ve reached the state of self-actualisation, happy to do whatever makes us happy in the moment, socially connected/defined or purposefully isolated individually.

Or, for some, a happy moment in the future we believe will exist for us, if we just work harder/smarter for ourselves and/or for the social good/[sub]culture to which we say/believe we belong.