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.

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!

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.

As Joggers Pass by the Cedar-Sided House in the Woods…

Working with my cadre of computer coders to gather data from (i.e., infiltrate) the apps most commonly downloaded by the hapless, in order to prepare a future of inexactitude.

The Chinese and [some] African national leaders say they are preparing a future that corrects the mistakes of Western foreign policies of the past.

Former enemies, the Brits and the Spaniards, approach a nearterm future of recessionary policy correction.

How long can we continue to suffer the pains of governments shrinking their influence upon the economy until the next breakthrough occurs?

Do we reword our headlines to say high unemployment rates are the goals we are achieving?

How do we prove to the restless youth that we’re encouraging them to think for themselves, outside the cereal box of toys and teeth-rotting sugary substances that drain their futures?

You are challenged to create the future in your own image.

You don’t have to depend on mass media portrayals of backyard BBQs, retirement accounts, jogging baby strollers and mobile phone technology implants because you need to communicate your thoughts before you think them.

Rushing into the future is no rush.  The highs get duller and duller.

Crime is a matter of perspective.

As joggers pass by the cedar-sided house in the woods, they burn energy, converting their sets of states of energy into portable heaters.

That’s the future you want to concentrate on.

The one that matters most.

After all, what distinguishes a natural-born member of our species from a cybernetic simulation?

Is it the jogger, the cedar siding, the house, or the woods?

A question posed 1000 years from now on a celestial body far from Earth.

That’s your future we derived from your app data.

Deal with it.

Trying Not To Impress Yourself

My family sorts out the news that the VA medical staff does not believe my father has ALS, bulbar option and, besides, he’s a “wanderer” who likes to roll a wheelchair up and down the hallways because he’s not being intellectually challenged on a constant basis anymore, which the staff is not prepared to handle; therefore, we expect the Mountain Home CLC is not a home for my father for very much longer.

Instead, the medical staff thinks my father’s dementia is related to a virus.

As to the dysphagia/aphasia, I don’t know their actioned thoughts on the matter.

I will work with my family to prepare the next phase of my father’s treated illnesses.

= = = = =

Meanwhile, the Committee is getting antsy, too.  Members have been wandering off on personal agendas and not sticking to the major plan.

Tempus fugit!  Only 13886 days to go.

One of the subcommittees reported to me last night in the middle of a swing dance.

On a side note, it doesn’t seem that many decades ago when those of us who worked in the government contracting business were told to keep our lips sealed because “Boris is listening,” implying that Soviet spies were hanging out in diners and bars, waiting for Americans to let slip secret information.

Now, many Russians are members of the subcommittees, sharing important data back-and-forth, equally, with their American counterparts.

It’s the eastern European, subSaharan African, and rogue Chinese populations that we keep a careful eye and ear upon.

Anyway, my two colleagues from Russia, Natasha and Nina (a chemist and physicist, respectively), showed up at the dance last night to discuss serious business.

It won’t be long now before we launch the next probe.

In that electromechanical space explorer we will secure our latest invention.

For years, alchemists thought the most precious product they could make was gold.

Not anymore.

Soon, water will be more precious than almost anything else.

That’s what Natasha and Nina reported to me last night.  They had perfected the low-energy creation of water using the latest in solar power generation material that reverses the processes of plant transpiration.

Do you know how hard it is to translate a conversation into dance moves?

Especially when you’re pretending to be a newby on the dance floor?

Thank goodness, it was one of the first training sessions that the Committee assembled millennia ago.

I have my childhood trainers to thank for their patience in using my unique dancing skills (or lack thereof) to convert thrashing around to the beats of pop music into codeable semaphore-like communication.

We wanted to celebrate last night but the timing wasn’t right.

Such is the life of the Reluctant Leader.

Always working, working, working, dedicating even his most private meditative moments into coordinating the next moves of our planetary life toward outward expansion.

You’ll be glad to know our efforts to reduce the population growth of our species on this planet are succeeding.

As much as I love all of us here, I need to remove some of our resources for daily living to use in other parts of the solar system, meaning I need to curtail our overzealous grab of raw materials for massive pop culture production and divert them to the Committee’s Special R&D Department for Life Reconfiguration, Deep Space Travel and Celestial Body Settlement, or SRDDLRDSTCBS, for short mnemonic purposes (better known as Sir Double-D Lard Stick Bus).

One day, my successor will take solar system resources for galactic exploration but you’ll find out more when the time is right.

I put many of our youth out of work for “The Man” in order to give you a more important assignment — be courteous to your elders and respect their requests to make our species the first one to say to the other species on this planet that we’re putting this former celestial home behind us.

Quit dawdling out there — let’s get to work and have fun in the process giving our descendants something truly worthwhile to call us their ancestors!!!