Meanwhile, on another planet

Here it is, I have to coordinate the Committee contracts with newly “elected” leaders like Putin and Hollande to ensure we keep our species moving in the direction on which we secretly agreed out in the open, using adverts on billboards and popular websites to describe the project plan, and then, family issues appear, like aliens from another planet, forcing me to bring forth my colleagues to measure certain people for cement shoes.

Either that, or manage their lives through closer surveillance, as usual.

For instance, I get a message like this:

Hello Richard,

Before I go into addressing your concern, I’d like to first apologize for the delay in my responding to your inquiry. Yahoo! Customer Care is committed to answering your questions as quickly and accurately as possible. However, we are currently receiving unusually high volumes which caused the delayed response.

I am sorry you have been unable to access your fathers Yahoo! account. I apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you.
I have reviewed this case and I would like to apologize for our previous responses as they were not as clear as they could have been.
As stated in the Yahoo! Terms of Service, Yahoo! accounts and any contents therein are non-transferable including when the account holder is ill or deceased. As a result, Yahoo! cannot provide passwords or access to another users’ accounts including account content such as email. To view Yahoo!’s Terms of Service click:
I hope this information helps, please reply to this message if you have any additional questions or concerns, I will be happy to help.
Thank you again for contacting Yahoo! Account Services.

Regards,

Dalton
Yahoo! Customer Care

What am I expected to say in an electronic paper trail?  What else, of course?:

Dalton,

Thanks for taking the time to respond and explain Yahoo! policy regarding personal accounts.  I had discussed this with my mother — we talked with a lawyer who said that we could pursue a court order to gain access to Dad’s Yahoo! account but it doesn’t necessarily guarantee that Yahoo! will comply with the court order.  Therefore, we’ve resigned ourselves to losing my father’s correspondence with friends and family through the years.  We hope we’ve figured out the financial transactions that were unresolved and closed them.

I completely understand the strict policies that email providers like Yahoo! have put in place to protect their customers.  However, I hope that in the future, we as a civilized society can accommodate digital wills and powers of attorney that give families and associates access to online accounts (especially as cloud services become prevalent) when critical health issues and/or deaths occur unexpectedly.

Regards,
Rick

Shall I complete the takedown of a CEO or two?  After all, Walmart and Yahoo! leadership positions look a little shaky right now, don’t they?  Maybe I should add a few email provider policy creators to the CEO guests on my version of Who’s Still Standing?!

Talk about alien encounters!

While we’re on the subject, I accepted PegLegs request to join the Committee.

See, as a marathon runner, PegLegs offers us a unique perspective.

Just the other day, she completed a 50 marathons in 50 days quest.

As a cover, that is…

She was sent to investigate a rash of reports that tractor-trailer rigs (a/k/a lorries) are spewing more than their usual black smoke trails into the air vents of overly sensitive minicaravan drivers and their spoiled brats vegetatively watching cotton candy viddies in the backseats.

Which can mean only one thing: we’ve reached critical mass in owner-operators hitting rock-bottom, no longer able to afford to maintain their over-the-road vehicles.

One step closer to the global strike by transportation workers…

PegLegs, while pounding her feet on pavement, discovered a new algorithm that tracks those who don’t want to be tracked simply by using crowd identification software to eliminate the trails of people who freely share their geolocation data, making those who don’t want to share their personal lives stand out like a hot dog stand on the last piece of Arctic ice going down the throat of a polar bear burning up in the steaming waters of a global warming sea current changing directions because there aren’t enough whales to release natural gas after eating giant Pacific squids looking for something to eat ever since Cameron’s deep sea dive poisoned the frigid depths with his hot air.

And now we return you to life 1000 years later…

Thanks to Chasity at Perkins; John, Jeremy, Peggy, Dr, Bokor, Stephanie and Brad at VA ICU; Robert at the Rave; Thomas at Chick fil A; Julie and Carla at Tuesday Morning; Esther at Hobby Lobby; Mapco.

Family Update (feel free to skip)

Family:

Dad’s vital signs are stable in ICU right now.  We’ve talked with his doctor twice, as well as observed the whole staff while the head MD used Dad as a teaching tool for MD residents.

Here’s the summary so far:

When Dad entered the ER at the VA yesterday, he had pneumonia which presumably he contracted at the VA skilled nursing facility (or CLC, as they call it).

Turns out he also had a collapsed lung due to a blockage of mucus.  They put Dad on a respirator (called a Nellcor Puritan Bennett 840 Ventilator System) that, unlike the old iron lung (which helped to pull air into the the lungs), pumps air into or inflates his lungs — they hoped to reinflate his collapsed lung with the respirator.

Three chest X-rays over the course of last night and into this morning showed the progression of his inflated lung (first X-ray: lung was 2/3 collapsed; second one: 1/3 collapsed; third one: completely inflated), which also went hand-in-hand with Dad’s oxygen level, rising from the 70s to just about 100% oxygen saturation now.

They’ve given Dad antibiotics that treat 98% of the types of pneumonia usually encountered in hospital situations, including the VA nursing home where he was staying, so Dad’s infection should go away with time.  The mucus blockage is still there but the last X-ray showed the lung is inflated past the blockage so that’s a good thing for now.  The doctor examined Dad and thinks the lung may have collapsed a little since the last X-ray.  Therefore, Dad will stay on the respirator for at least the next 24 hours before they attempt to wean him off of respiration assistance.

That’s the good news.

While looking at Dad’s X-rays, the doctor (and radiologist) noted Dad’s heart is enlarged.   Upon further examination, it appears Dad has damage to the wall of one ventricle, a tear that resulted in a bulge at some time in the past (i.e., an aneurysm), which the doctor surmises was an undetected heart attack (MI, or myocardial infarction) that is associated with the recent reports of Dad having a heart murmur.

The doctor has ordered another chest X-ray, as well as a sonogram (ultrasound of the heart) to further detail the damage; in other words, if the heart damage is bad and Dad is unable to fight the lung infection, then we have to consider the measures we want to take to try to get Dad better.

In addition, the doctor is worried about Dad’s neurological condition.  Basically, mentally, deep down, Dad has to want to fight this or his body will not get better.  If Dad was a 20-year old man, his body could probably heal itself regardless of Dad’s mental state; however, at this point, we cannot say what’s going on in Dad’s thoughts because he cannot verbalise or visually express in any coherent manner his pains, aches or desires.

After going through Dad’s medical history, the doctor told us what nobody wants to hear but those in the medical field understand — we may never know what has caused Dad’s symptoms but, as knowledgeable/compassionate MDs, the doctors must admit they’re human, too, and don’t know everything.

The important thing is to give Dad as much of a chance as the medical staff can for him to get better, making him comfortable in the process, and let time (and God) heal Dad.

Also, Dad’s blood pressure has varied, running a little low, but hasn’t dropped precipitously low, so they’re watching his BP but don’t want to give him any medication unless they have to, avoiding complications and giving them a little room for changing his meds if an emergency arises.

Same for his agitation/anxiousness — they don’t want to overly sedate him but simply give him anti-anxiety medication on an as-needed basis so that Dad has the chance to let us know if he’s in any real pain or wants to participate in some other way in his recovery.

That’s all for now.  We’ll know more tomorrow.

Thanks for all your prayers,

Rick

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?

Packed Pact with the Pack Rat of the Rat Pack Pact

After we genetically modified a tree to have a central nervous system, could we still call it a tree?

It cannot uproot itself.

It depends upon photosynthesis for energy conversion.

It still produces flowers and makes seeds.

But it can more easily move its limbs and leaves to capture sunlight and raindrops.

It can secrete chemical combinations that fight off insect attacks.

Strong winds can break it apart.  So, too, lightning and floods.

It can tell me when a bird has built a nest into a hole where a limb broke off and the tree couldn’t heal itself fast enough.

It knows that it will die one day.

It can’t escape the blades of a chainsaw or the flames of a forest fire.

It knows that it came from the seed of another tree but doesn’t feel a familial allegiance to the bearer of that seed.

It has no gland-based emotional feedback system.

Pain is not a feeling or thought to the tree.

It knows its existence and what it can do with the limited means to enhance its survival.

It cannot speak but it can send signals to an interface that translates tree nervous system output into a language we can understand.

We can, in turn, send signals back to the tree that we see what the tree is thinking, making suggestions for places to extend its root system or tweak its protective chemical combinations.

The tree cannot bend its limbs fast enough to avoid approaching, predicted storm systems.

To the tree, our measure of time is irrelevant.

Its very nature is slow contemplation and meditation.

But a tree’s wisdom is truly only good for another tree.

However, with a central nervous system, the tree can store our memories — our effects on its life.

We had hoped to use trees as nodes in our planetary network of memory storage and retrieval, perhaps even a little arithmetic calculation, but the energy required was less efficient than letting the trees serve us as trees have served us for years, staying focused on being the best trees a thinking tree can be.

Genetic modification in moderation, that’s our motto.

How many people have you met in your lifetime?

I remember when it took months, sometimes years, for the result of litigation concerning an automobile smashup to be announced.

This morning, while I reprogrammed the connections between my synapses and the autonomous transport vehicle carrying my physical presence to another location on our home planet, I caused the vehicle’s guidance system to malfunction, resulting in a smashup on an offramp of the local highway.

I stare at the hole in my labour/investment credit account where I was billed a large sum to be paid off in installments to cover the cost of the smashup as well as medical bills and the usual “fee” for pain and suffering to prevent someone like me from thinking about toying with transportation vehicles en route.

Yes, the news was filled with photos and diagrams of the smashup, claiming a new record — five seconds — was set between the end of the smashup and the guilty verdict given to me, a few nanoseconds before my account was sucked dry.

I’m lucky.  I can remember a time when we had real lawyers and judges who worked out deals in judge’s chambers or argued cases in newspaper headlines in order to sway a jury of one’s peers.

Now, our fully connected surveillance and transport system monitoring equipment can sort out the cause-and-effect event instantaneously, leaving a small assortment of people to plea their legal issues in front of computerised/crowdsourced adjudications.

A child dies from a bee sting.  The bee’s venom is traced to a natural hive.  The parents have already banked on their child’s future earning potential.  They want justice.

To whom do they turn?

I am the last of my breed.  It’s my job to decide if the natural hive has thrived because of a local farm or the nearby section of the globalised network of natural parks.

Should I award the parents their citizenry “fee” based on the limited earnings of the farmer or the seemingly unlimited earnings of the global government’s Natural Park Management Foundation?

As judge, jury and lawyer for both sides, I take every case handed to me seriously.

Besides, I have a new subculture to pay for over the next five decades, since in a subsequent ruling, it was decided that my smashup caused a future reconfiguration of the small neighbourhood in which the smashup took place.  I have to foot the bill for the whole shebang?!  Wow!

After monitoring the tracers I inserted in 20% of the beehive workers, it appears that nearly a 50/50 split exists between bees who visit the natural park and bees who pollinate the farmer’s crop.

Hmm…

Do I follow previous rulings that say a party which has even the slightest responsibility over 50%, no matter whether it’s 99.9999% or 50.0000000001%, is automatically guilty of the whole thing?

Do I rule that minor accessories to a crime are just as guilty but only responsible for their slice of the pie?

Do I rule the parents are at fault for letting their child, known before birth for susceptibility to fatal bee stings, walk through a strip of grass between her domicile and the transportation device which took her from one parent’s workplace back home during Take Your Child To Telework/Shared Office Space Day?

I have three seconds left to decide this case.

I’ll take a one-second nap and then submit my ruling for crowdsourced refinement, which usually only takes a few more seconds before the case’s outcome is officially stamped and approved, the sting of a single bee changing the course of our whole species in an instant.

Texting While Driving

If local laws ban texting while driving, how does that affect my habit of writing messages/journal entries in a notepad while I’m sitting behind the wheel aiming a two-tonne machine on tires powered by an internal combustion engine through traffic?

Depending on the part of the world/country in which you live, you might have a preconceived notion about the driver of the vehicle below:

I don’t.  I have seen men, women, boys, girls, Caucasians, Asians, Hispanics, blacks, young and old behind the wheel of dubbed-up rim jobs like this rolling down the highway.  I’ve never seen a homeless type person or an Amazonian tribal member driving one, though.

Makes me wonder…

If we’ll spend fifteen thousand dollars on a set of wheels, would we spend fifteen large on annual healthcare or a ride 100 km above Earth’s surface?

I am a childless, dying person so I don’t have to worry about leaving a legacy behind.  I can say what I want and do what I want while deciding if I want to obey local traffic laws when scribbling personal observations and notes to remind myself to thank others for their kindness to me throughout the day.

There are 13,883 days to reach the next milestone.

Thanks to Shannon at Arby’s, Liz at Beauregard’s, Michelle at Dreamland BBQ, the busy staff at Gibson’s BBQ on the last free pie day of April, Nichelle at PVA, Joe and Jenn at KCDC, Irina and Julia, Hannah at Shaggy’s, Danny at Walmart, Jonathan at Anaheim Chili, Ian at the Rave, Lynn, Sarah and Dr. Pugh, and many more.

Pause for thought of the day.

On a personal side note, I’ve found that recent stress has greatly increased my desire for sex.  Very interesting as well as disruptive, as if I’m creating vast stores of testosterone in order to take on and conquer the world.  Makes me not want to look into a person’s eyes because I feel like all the lust inside of me is pouring out through my face.

Spending time on self-examination takes away from building scenarios for the story of our lives told in this blog.

For instance, my dreams have reached vivid proportions.

In last night’s dream, while my wife and I traveled through snowy country on a tandem bike, we topped an icy hill and were suddenly sitting in a car.  Topping the next hill, we happened upon a set of railroad tracks.

We stood by the tracks.  I was holding the reins of a rope harness attached to a cow.  The cow was pulling a set of railroad cars which had big wooden wheels like you see on a child’s playtoy set.

The cow was very tired.  It wanted to get into a hot tub.

I climbed into the hot tub with the cow so it could warm up its legs.  Sitting in the tub was a woman with orange hair and ivory-white skin covered with freckles.  She was a cow whisperer.

My wife asked the cow whisperer to interpret what the cow was saying.  The cow rubbed its head against me like a cat, making low mooing sounds like a cat’s purr.  The cow whisperer said the cow was weary of the ways of the world and wanted to quit pulling the railroad cars.

The cow, tub and whisperer disappeared.  I was standing by the railroad tracks with the rope in my hand.  My wife wanted to go on to the hotel/chalet where we had a reservation.  I pulled hard on the rope and finally got the railroad cars rolling in parallel with the railroad tracks.

We entered the chalet and walked the halls looking for our room.  I kept pulling the rope, wondering if the railroad cars would fit in the hallways and stairwells we walked and walked for a while.

Finally, we found our room.  Inside was a man who looked like the character of Mr. Ripley played by Matt Damon.  The man kept telling us one different story after another about why we had this particular room, including why I had the rope in my hand.  He promised to tell me if the railroad cars would fit in the chalet hallways when the phone rang.

I jerked awake.  The bedside phone rang, disturbing the cats sleeping next to me.  My wife had already left for work.

I answered the phone.  My mother was on the line giving me an update about my father’s stay at the VA.

My wife decided to interpret the images of my subconscious thought for me during dinner at Dreamland BBQ tonight:

  • The cow was my mother and the railroad cars were my father.
  • The man in the hotel room was my alternate egos.

While she told me her interpretation, TV screens around us featured talking heads analysing the recent suicidal death of Junior Seau, a former fearsome NFL player.

While I dreamt, a blind man proved he can change the course of history by standing between the governments of China and the U.S.

If a parrot can live longer than the average member of our species, then a dream can live longer than one civilisation cycle.

And texting while driving is a matter of interpretation.

Time to give my dreams impetus/motivation and transportation!

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.