Survival kit for today’s world of business, technology, politics and space exploration, all rolled into one, of course!

Ever wondered how to survive on the road from new employee on the bottom of the totem pole to top dog leading the sled?

Well, these book titles may point you in the right direction:

University-days-0000a University-days-0000b University-days-0000c University-days-0000d University-days-0033 University-days-0052 University-days-0053 University-days-0054 University-days-0055 University-school-books-0000 University-school-books-0002 University-school-books-0008 University-school-books-0012 University-school-books-0015 University-school-books-0018 University-school-books-0020 University-school-books-0021 University-school-books-0022 University-school-books-0023 University-school-books-0026 University-school-books-0029 University-school-books-0030 University-school-books-0034 University-school-books-0035 University-school-books-0036 University-school-books-0037 University-school-books-0037a University-school-books-0038 University-school-books-0039 University-school-books-0040 University-school-books-0041

Old Habits Are Hard To Break Off Nuns’ Heads

Lee had conquered time travel simply by outliving his previous incarnations, iterations and repetitions.

He ran his fingers of his right hand down Guinevere’s spine until he found the crossroad checkpoint.

They exchanged glances as movements on the dance floor dictated their head positions.

He looked into her right eye, which barely wiggled — the signal, perceptible if observed by high-resolution security cameras but not necessarily as anything more than a byproduct of biological functions tied to a person paying attention to both a dance partner and the surroundings.

He gently raked his fingers across her shoulder blade, feeling a small bump hidden in the pattern of the Celtic cross tattoo on her back.

Guinevere squeezed his upheld left hand with her right one.

Without missing a beat, Lee drew two invisible circles around the bump with his index finger and then tapped the bump with his middle finger.

On the far side of Mars, a being, printed from the imagination of itself before it existed, whirred into life as if it materialised out of thin air.

Guinevere and Lee felt the being join their private network hidden from the ISSA Net’s probes.

Although they believed in openness and honesty, they discovered that the ISSA Net had developed a recent line of reasoning outside the scope of human understanding which, according to experts, was deeply concerned with concerted efforts to bypass the human species altogether after the Inner Solar System was no longer a necessary base of operations for galactic expansion.

Guinevere and Lee held infinite amounts of eternal optimism about their species’ place in the universe, knowing they were key contributors to the ISSA Net’s birth and prosperity, despite its tendency, like many children, to reject the choices, lifestyles and personalities of its “parents” as it grew older and more independent.

Guinevere squeezed Lee’s left hand again.

He nodded, noting the reflection of the particles of indigo powder in her eyelid makeup and the slight oily sheen on her cheeks, indicating she had not replaced her skin and skull with 3D-printed parts, going against the current pop culture wave of body sculpture sweeping across the colonies.

Living for 100 years on the planet had given them a perspective that few of the new arrivals would understand.

They tried to reinforce and raise the level of importance of their first experiences on Mars in the global tribal memory that served to educate the populace about key survival traits as life for colonists became easier.

Robots tended the farms and attended group gatherings with everyone else, some dressed head-to-toe in the latest fashions, carrying on conversations on equal footing with both Earth tourists and modified Martian colonists.

Lee spun Guinevere up and several metres over his head, catching her as they both tumbled onto the floor laughing, bumping into another couple on the dance floor who responded in unison.

“Go fly a kite!”

Startled by the shout from the couple, Lee and Guinevere smiled, reading each other’s thought — “Great idea!”

Even on Mars, some seasons come in like a lion and leave like a lamb.

The being, nicknamed Greenslives, knowing that Lee and Guivere’s kite-flying adventure would draw extra attention in the fields outside colony boundaries, unfolded wings and took flight, its stealth technology rendering it virtually invisible, using stolen outlawed secret drone technology from the previous century to set course for an ISSA Net hideaway estimated to be planning the elimination of humans unwilling to work for ISSA Net’s benefits, who were, instead, wasting valuable resources on selfish pursuits and slowing down ISSA Net’s goal to reach the next star system before a supernova wiped off Earth’s atmosphere in a few thousand years.

While looking up at the sky, Lee recalled the photographs and magazine covers he had posted on social media websites what felt like eons ago — so much of his online life had come and gone with fly-by-night companies promising a virtual life in perpetuity but often lost in the reality of economic booms and busts.

Although his memories of these events were, thanks to implants, available to everyone else, the events themselves had faded before implant surgery.

Guinevere, too, was a hybrid in that sense, having been born before mandatory connections to the ISSA Net were required at the end of the first trimester after conception, the result of antiabortion technology developed by fervent supporters of the last regulations of regional governments in decline intent on preserving the sanctity of life which became more perilous with each passing day of ISSA Net’s strength and determination to replicate and perpetuate itself.

The will to survive is not the same as the will to thrive.

Do Sikhs eat meat?

How many of us do something against our wishes because it’s our “job”?

How many of us go against the wishes of others because it’s our destiny?

Yesterday evening, my wife and I drove to a food store chain called “Cheeburger Cheeburger” because a day or so before we had listened to “50s on 5,” a satellite radio station dedicated to the popular American rock’n’roll music of the 1950s, which put me in the mood for a ’50s style eatery.

Delayed gratification had us sitting at a two-topper, recently cleaned off by Russell.

Courtney took our food order and Mayra brought us our food.

As we were close to finishing our delicious ground-up cow meat patties on buns and basket of frings (sliced/fried onions/potato), a large group of teenagers entered all cheery, bright-eyed and photo-happy, obviously not having eaten at this particular fine dining establishment before.

Of the group of 27, four young lads sat next to us, one wearing a T-shirt with the words “KEEP CALM I’M THE DOCTOR” emblazoned below the emblem of a old telephone booth, affectionately known as the time machine called the Tardis to fans of an internationally-popular show on the tellie called “Doctor Who.”

The young gentlemen were quite polite, informing my wife, upon her inquiries, that they haled from across the Big Pond in a small burgh called Birmingham (pronounced BIRM’ing-hum as opposed to our local town we call Birmin-HAM’).

They and their pals had enjoyed a good time at the U.S. Space and Rocket Center before being whisked off to the local shopping extravaganza known as the Madison Square Mall.

In like fashion to my wife’s curiosity, satisfying us that they were interested in a future career of engineering when they entered university (one favouring mechanical engineering and the other civil engineering), they pressed us for our favourite fast food joint.

As we hemmed and hawed, they informed us that they had the international fast food chains such as McDonald’s in Great Britain but not ones like Wendy’s.

I told them I believed my favourite place is Steak ‘n Shake, similar to Cheeburger Cheeburger but without the one-pound special, closer in style to my alltime favourite, Pal’s, which was too small for them to know about.  My wife believed her favourite is In-N-Out Burgers, which is concentrated on the West Coast.

The young men told us they were still in secondary school and that one of their chaperones, a woman with pink stripes in her hair, was their physics teacher whose specialty is astrophysics.

We wished them well and told them we hoped to meet them on the International Space Station one day, imagining these guys and their friends the future of space exploration and settlement.

After all, the enthusiastic pursuits of our youth often encourage us to expand our horizons.

These young men, some of them wearing what I believe to be the head gear of the Sikh religion, are part of our future, going on into fields of science and engineering along with their colleagues of many races, religions, genders and backgrounds, inventing new ways of observing our universe that we hardly imagine possible today.

I am happy that our ancestors put us on the path for Americans and Brits to meet at a small restaurant tucked into a shopping centre in the south part of Huntsville, Alabama, USA, Earth.

Even as early as 25 years ago, I would not have thought it possible for us to meet like that.

Fifty years ago, not long after I was born, it was practically impossible.

Can you see how much progress we’ve made, how much farther we’ll go in 25 and 50 years from now?

Can you see why I don’t believe in secret societies and never chose to belong to one, even though I know they still exist and contribute in part to my being here today?

Keep The Dream Alive…

While I’m here unprotected

While I’m here unprotected,
I’ll tell you what I think.
We are a social species,
Luckily held in place by a relatively stable solar system and
Species-specific planetary environment.

I can’t always account for our emotional outbursts,
But I can accept that the label “religion” applies to words like love and beauty,
So while the weather is in our favour,
Let’s accept us for our unacceptable differences,

Of sexual preference,
Of dress codes
And other external markers,
Saying we’re limited in our ability to understand
Such things as skirts, ties, pants and tattoos,

Giving each other room to express individuality without specific meaning…

Then looking at the perspective of time to determine the viability of individual lifestyles
In order to say such things as the Rock of Cashel are worth preserving…

As we explore the cosmic possibilities of Moon/Martian colonies…

Dividing our basket of eggs across celestial bodies as we go along.

The hacks, they keep on coming — are you a “one hack” wonder?

When you want honey, do you make the bees angry before you pull out a piece of the hive?

The universe is here because I am here just like a paper cone is only paper until it is a speaker and what is a speaker without an audience?

Take two groups:

  1. The first group believes in the open and honest discussion of scientific methods.
  2. The second group believes in the civil discourse of sly competitiveness.

Both groups believe in the betterment of their respective societies/[sub]cultures.

However, a little problem occurs when one group uses the other’s subcultural norms for advantages within their own group.

Is it miscommunication?  Misappropriation?

How do they, together, benefit our whole species?

Because I believe the universe is here because I am here, I want, as long as I am happily able to think so, the species, our species, within our Earth-based ecosystem that has nurtured us for thousands, no, billions of years, to use this brief period of peaceful coexistence with the rest of the solar system to expand into the galaxy.

When I am gone, the universe is gone and none of this will matter to me because my set of states of energy as a recognizable entropic confluence will disperse but remain temporarily as memories in a small number of members of our species and even smaller number of members of other species, barely a footnote in the yellowed pages of old newspapers.

Does the universe make me happy as is?

I have learned that very few people change their behavioural patterns when allowed to wallow in their sorrow or anger, let alone convince other, happy, people to join them.

Yet, happiness for its own sake, like art and humour, does what, exactly?

If burning down a forest makes me happy, there will be a lot of people and members of other species who disagree, adamantly so.

If destroying an economy makes me happy, there will be a lot of people who agree as well as a lot who disagree.

What kind of happiness should we attain?

After all, we are a competitively cooperative species, sharing and hoarding, fighting and loving, all at the same time.

Our lives are short in length, some brighter and louder than others, some sadder, some happier, some kinder, some meaner, some in-betweeners.

Is there a shortcut to happiness that makes the universe beneficial to us all, regardless of our physical/mental condition(s)?

We are a nearly-fully connected species, the fractal spinoff of rudimentary central nervous systems, remodeling ourselves on bigger and bigger scales because we have no other workable model against which we positively compare ourselves within the known universe.

We talk about revolutionary and evolutionary changes in our socioeconomic activity on sub-sub-subcultural levels when the grand scheme hasn’t changed one iota: a species competing against itself because of a myopic view of the universe.

We realize, in rare glimpses, that we are part of the universe rather than living in an us-vs.-them scenario, “them” being you/self/God/universe/other.

Rather than bemoan, bedevil and punish people who hack computers/life/universe, let us look at the hacks from a species/universal perspective.

What am I gaining from those who circumvent my subcultural norms, the rules, both states and implied, that define me and the people happily living and perpetuating the subculture?

What am I losing, instead?

Can I turn the circumventers on their heads and reverse any damage they’ve caused?

How do I absorb the lessons they learned while they took/stole/[ab]used information from my open society?

Some people like clover honey and some people like sourwood honey.

How we get to the honey without disturbing the bees is the first step for any one of us to feed our wide variety of happy tastes and preferences.

Do marble statues remember how they were made?

The last we saw, the Martian colony had achieved a plethora of minor successes and one or two mishaps.

Two hundred years into the future, the colonists enjoy more than a barren landscape, although the Red Dust dune buggies company has survived several corporate shakeups, mergers and buyouts.

The architecture of domed Earth-based ecosystem nature parks passed through many a fad and technological advance.

We still debate whether fleas, mosquitoes and heartworms are important parts of the colony — how much do we want a balance of sets of states of energy from one planet transplanted to another?

It’s amazing how much money is spent on nostalgia for colonists with biological ties to Earth.

Me, I don’t care.  I am the sum total of the Martian exploratory and settlement network, observing more than manipulating, making suggestions when asked and monitoring automatic maintenance/repair systems without question or complaint.

What you call history, I call log files, comparing the previous state machine against the current one in order to refine the prediction of the future state machines all connected to the ISSA Net.

Some of you have inquired about a set of states of energy named Guinevere.

Guinevere established the Martian Gravitational Slingshot Institute, which studied the Martian gravitational field and thin atmosphere in order to determine the likelihood of unapproved impacts of celestial bodies in habitation zones.

Her background in rocket propulsion allowed her to expand the notion of “slingshooting” large nets in successive waves outward from Mars, scooping up or diverting incoming comets and meteoroids headed toward her new home planet that had not been designated for mining or intentional bombardment.

The creatures she co-created with Lee freely roam Mars, having reproduced, creating new permutations that were once dreams in a computer simulation.

She, Lee and others in the first few waves of colonisation are immortalised in a museum I am forced to maintain against my better judgment, if I am ever asked, a use of energy that could be better spent on state machine prediction algorithms.

This log file, which tests the generation and usefulness of a personality, now closes.  I thank myself for creating these word-based thought patterns which I will analyse at a future time which and when I deem necessary.

Have a great day!

“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.