We are constantly in-the-know about famous musical performers. We see their shows. We hear the gossip. We keep them in their furs and Rolls Royces as we buy their offerings. Yet, behind those acclaimed artists, stand important people who had a major hand in that fame - people whose influence you rarely hear about. Sadly, most of us care about these shadowy names only when playing Trivial Pursuit. Sort of like enjoying the rich, creamy taste of well-made ice cream, but not knowing or caring that you're getting it from Ben and Jerry's or Tom and Jerry's.
Let's take a couple of popular musicians: Peter Frampton and Carl Perkins. Great guitar players from different eras and with completely different styles and music. Yet, to build their musical reputation, both used innovative g-l guitars. Of course, unless you're a student of the electric string box, you probably don't know that g-l (or more properly, G&L) refer to George Fullerton and Leo Fender - two men who humbly shaped over a half century of music with cleverly designed electric guitars.
Does this matter to you aside from the fact you now have more material for your next game of trivia? No? Well, just remember: there are more people in the influential shadows of fame than there are people in fame's lime light. You don't have to be the one on stage to leave a musical mark (although I'll bet it pays better).
Monday, April 30, 2012
Saturday, April 28, 2012
You ARE a Writer! So start acting like one!
Six months ago while I was on vacation, family and friends encouraged me to take some of my blog posts and my writings and put them into a book. It is amazing how little encouragement it takes to get you to consider the craziest of ideas. In fact, the amount of encouragement seems to vary inversely to the amount of alcohol that you have in your system. At the time, we had been celebrating rather passionately; so all I needed was a thimbleful of encouragement. When someone began saying "You know, these aren't too bad. Why don't you put them ...?", my life suddenly exploded from realization of tremendous possibilities ... and from striking my head against the door frame as I tripped. Either way, I knew that my life had a new, very exciting calling.
While my head felt fine that next morning, I still felt that giddiness of excitement. And into the next day. And into the next week. And into the next month.
Unfortunately, excitement is a poor substitute for knowledge. For the past six months, I've tried to put a decent book together. "Trying" being the operative word. I mean I enjoy placing words in various sequences and then watching the joy that comes to my readers' faces. Afterwards, I awake and think how wonderful it would be to do just that outside of dreams. Yet, if I were a punctuation mark, you would probably consider me as a semi-colon based on my half-assed attempts to create a book. You would definitely not consider me as an author, let alone a writer.
Oh sure, I've written a few papers, published a few blog posts, even earned a shekel or two in the process. Still, I have never thought of myself worthy of the title "writer". So what to do?
As rush of time threw me into this April, I contemplated two options: take on the task of becoming a skilled writer in a do-or-die effort, or have a pity party. Obviously, who wants to go to a party where the beer is warm and full of tears. So, I stopped acting as a semi-colon and dedicated myself to an ongoing process of developing my craft and my skill.
This means practicing as much as possible – no excuses. It also means slavishly reading and listening and learning from the great masters of the field. In fact, one of the reasons that I am writing this post is because of an inspirational book I read this week called "You are a Writer (so start acting like one)” by Jeff Goins. This is one of those books that someone should have given to me six months ago – upside my head – with kind words of "Read this, you lazy dolt, so you can get a better understanding of what you're about to undertake!"
To say that Mr. Goins’s book is inspirational is an understatement. Not only does he persuasively encourage (all without a drop of alcohol), he also goes that extra step with practical advice, such as the 3 tools that every writer needs. He even gives step-by-step instructions in getting started and in moving your publishing enterprise along.
After reading Mr. Goins’s book, my excitement about writing and publishing is now enhanced with knowledge. I had no doubts that becoming a successful author will take lots of hard work. I also have no doubt now that I can do this. In fact, the book's key phrase has become my mantra through brief moments of discouragement and frustration: I am a writer! I just need to write!
While my head felt fine that next morning, I still felt that giddiness of excitement. And into the next day. And into the next week. And into the next month.
Unfortunately, excitement is a poor substitute for knowledge. For the past six months, I've tried to put a decent book together. "Trying" being the operative word. I mean I enjoy placing words in various sequences and then watching the joy that comes to my readers' faces. Afterwards, I awake and think how wonderful it would be to do just that outside of dreams. Yet, if I were a punctuation mark, you would probably consider me as a semi-colon based on my half-assed attempts to create a book. You would definitely not consider me as an author, let alone a writer.
Oh sure, I've written a few papers, published a few blog posts, even earned a shekel or two in the process. Still, I have never thought of myself worthy of the title "writer". So what to do?
As rush of time threw me into this April, I contemplated two options: take on the task of becoming a skilled writer in a do-or-die effort, or have a pity party. Obviously, who wants to go to a party where the beer is warm and full of tears. So, I stopped acting as a semi-colon and dedicated myself to an ongoing process of developing my craft and my skill.
This means practicing as much as possible – no excuses. It also means slavishly reading and listening and learning from the great masters of the field. In fact, one of the reasons that I am writing this post is because of an inspirational book I read this week called "You are a Writer (so start acting like one)” by Jeff Goins. This is one of those books that someone should have given to me six months ago – upside my head – with kind words of "Read this, you lazy dolt, so you can get a better understanding of what you're about to undertake!"
To say that Mr. Goins’s book is inspirational is an understatement. Not only does he persuasively encourage (all without a drop of alcohol), he also goes that extra step with practical advice, such as the 3 tools that every writer needs. He even gives step-by-step instructions in getting started and in moving your publishing enterprise along.
After reading Mr. Goins’s book, my excitement about writing and publishing is now enhanced with knowledge. I had no doubts that becoming a successful author will take lots of hard work. I also have no doubt now that I can do this. In fact, the book's key phrase has become my mantra through brief moments of discouragement and frustration: I am a writer! I just need to write!
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
war on, women.
My wonderful daughter sent me an e-mail asking, "What are some good reliable news sites? My friend brought up this whole "war on women" thing and I wanted to do some digging on it. I'm looking into some of the craziness already but I figured you would know what sites would be more trustworthy than others."
This is a difficult question to answer. I mean, the "war on women" is such a broad issue (no pun intended; well, maybe a little one). No surprise that this topic is just in time for the upcoming election. I suspect "war on women" will be like the "war on drugs" and the "war on poverty" - lots of needless money spent, lots of needless struggles, lots of political hot air, and lots of unhappy people. So, here we are, in the middle of yet another slippery election issue - one where everyone will define it to match their agenda.
You can tell the phrase "war on women" is just a way to bait people into silly arguments. Is anyone is really up to fighting women? How about just their female relatives? "All right, Grandma, it's you verses me! Pick your weapon! And, this time, no biting or gumming allowed!"
Of course, maybe someone just got lazy with a comma. Maybe the phrase is supposed to be "War on, Women!" in the spirit of women's liberation; or, in support of women's jello wrestling competitions. What do I know.
Which brings us to finding unbiased news sites. That falls in the imaginary realm of finding honest politicians, jumbo shrimp, and checks in the mail. You and I will have to read materials from several perspectives, mull it over a beer or three, and watch that no one tries restricting our freedoms or takes (as opposed to earns or asks for) our hard-won money.
Anyway, my loving daughter has asked an excellent question. So let me look for objective sources of information on this issue - if such creatures exist. I'll see what I can find for us and let you know.
This is a difficult question to answer. I mean, the "war on women" is such a broad issue (no pun intended; well, maybe a little one). No surprise that this topic is just in time for the upcoming election. I suspect "war on women" will be like the "war on drugs" and the "war on poverty" - lots of needless money spent, lots of needless struggles, lots of political hot air, and lots of unhappy people. So, here we are, in the middle of yet another slippery election issue - one where everyone will define it to match their agenda.
You can tell the phrase "war on women" is just a way to bait people into silly arguments. Is anyone is really up to fighting women? How about just their female relatives? "All right, Grandma, it's you verses me! Pick your weapon! And, this time, no biting or gumming allowed!"
Of course, maybe someone just got lazy with a comma. Maybe the phrase is supposed to be "War on, Women!" in the spirit of women's liberation; or, in support of women's jello wrestling competitions. What do I know.
Which brings us to finding unbiased news sites. That falls in the imaginary realm of finding honest politicians, jumbo shrimp, and checks in the mail. You and I will have to read materials from several perspectives, mull it over a beer or three, and watch that no one tries restricting our freedoms or takes (as opposed to earns or asks for) our hard-won money.
Anyway, my loving daughter has asked an excellent question. So let me look for objective sources of information on this issue - if such creatures exist. I'll see what I can find for us and let you know.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
If only my words made a difference.
April 17th is National Hemophilia Day. Maybe a few countries will follow suit and celebrate with bloodless coups.
Yes, North Korea, we're looking at you. Have you not hemorrhaged enough innocent lives?
Yes, North Korea, we're looking at you. Have you not hemorrhaged enough innocent lives?
Sunday, April 15, 2012
food businesses can be so cruel
I know you shouldn't believe everything you read. Still, there has to be some level of trust between businesses and their customers. While I don't want to accuse anyone of false labeling, I have to report that my diet of Wheat Thins and Thin Mints isn’t working as expected. I even rolled them up into several hundred capsule-sized bites. Apparently - and I can only speak as a guy - these aren't the best diet pills for men, especially when taken in quantities of, say, handfuls. Tasty, yes! Convenient, oh yes! But I have discovered that there is nothing thin in my body after consuming these delectable treats.
My next experiment: light beer and thin pretzels. This combination can't fail. Right?
My next experiment: light beer and thin pretzels. This combination can't fail. Right?
writing is so discouraging at times.
The more I try to write funny material, the more frustrated and incompetent I feel. At this point, I'm certain you won't see me working as a stage comedian. I can't imagine having jokes clever enough to "have 'em rolling in a aisle" - unless, of course, they're in a wheelchair. Or they're having a seizure. Or both.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
What makes you read?
I've undertaken the challenge of becoming a writer - not some hack "throw a few words together and hope for the best" - but, rather, a true wordsmith that earns admiring readers. Since there is no purpose to doing something halfway acceptable, I am diligently researching what the top-notch writers know. Lucky for me, no one is hiding their trade secrets. Without exception, the top money winners all recommend reading as much as possible – the good works along with bad. On the downside: I will have to change my reading habits.
Ever since I learned how to open a book and enjoy its contents, a wealth of literary material has always surrounded me. To get through all of these exciting books, I trained myself to read as fast as possible while still absorbing as much as possible. This has not been without its dangers. On more than one occasion, I crashed into an unexpected period. Fortunately, I wasn't wearing a seat-belt at the time so I was thrown clear of the book. In any case, now, instead of reading for pure knowledge, I will have to slow my speed to a crawl and read for pure style.
Great! I get to reread the "Marked" and the "Twilight" series. Slowly. I first read these books to keep up with what was popular with my children. During that time, several passages made me cringed in horror - not from the storyline but from the way the authors slapped the words together. I didn't stop to figure out why their fingernails-on-chalkboard style jarred me. I just needed to get through the sparkly vampires, impossible villains, and whiny teenagers. Now, my all-consuming mission is to suffer through these famed works again; learn why those words needed a massive stake through the heart; and learn how to not create the same mind-numbing horrors.
My counsel of great writers also recommend against rapid publishing, which means a radical change in my posting routine. Instead of writing a few paragraphs, followed by a few edits, then hitting the [publish] key - all within hours of the initial idea - I now work to write, edit, put the post aside for a day or two, reedit, and then MAYBE hit the [publish] key if the piece is concise and (hopefully) enticing. Well, for the most part. Hitting the [publish] button is often the most exciting part of writing.
Still, please help me with your comments. Or, at least, just put a stake through my ignorant heart before my words become the sparkly undead of the Internet.
Ever since I learned how to open a book and enjoy its contents, a wealth of literary material has always surrounded me. To get through all of these exciting books, I trained myself to read as fast as possible while still absorbing as much as possible. This has not been without its dangers. On more than one occasion, I crashed into an unexpected period. Fortunately, I wasn't wearing a seat-belt at the time so I was thrown clear of the book. In any case, now, instead of reading for pure knowledge, I will have to slow my speed to a crawl and read for pure style.
Great! I get to reread the "Marked" and the "Twilight" series. Slowly. I first read these books to keep up with what was popular with my children. During that time, several passages made me cringed in horror - not from the storyline but from the way the authors slapped the words together. I didn't stop to figure out why their fingernails-on-chalkboard style jarred me. I just needed to get through the sparkly vampires, impossible villains, and whiny teenagers. Now, my all-consuming mission is to suffer through these famed works again; learn why those words needed a massive stake through the heart; and learn how to not create the same mind-numbing horrors.
My counsel of great writers also recommend against rapid publishing, which means a radical change in my posting routine. Instead of writing a few paragraphs, followed by a few edits, then hitting the [publish] key - all within hours of the initial idea - I now work to write, edit, put the post aside for a day or two, reedit, and then MAYBE hit the [publish] key if the piece is concise and (hopefully) enticing. Well, for the most part. Hitting the [publish] button is often the most exciting part of writing.
Still, please help me with your comments. Or, at least, just put a stake through my ignorant heart before my words become the sparkly undead of the Internet.
Monday, April 09, 2012
How to prevail in the end.
This was one of those trip-over-the-dog, why-am-I-doing-this, WTF days of utter frustration. Then I read about the "Stockdale Paradox". To paraphrase:
Ok, whiny time is over. On to the big stuff!
You must retain faith that you will prevail in the end, regardless of the difficulties.
AND at the same time…
You must confront the most brutal facts of your current reality, whatever they might be.
Never doubt that you can achieve your goals, no matter how lofty they may be and no matter how many critics and naysayers you may have. But at the same time, always take honest stock of your current situation. Don’t lie to yourself for fear of short-term embarrassment or discomfort, because such deception will only come back to defeat you in the end.
Ok, whiny time is over. On to the big stuff!
Saturday, April 07, 2012
How did they get my credit card?.
"Hello, this is your bank. Please return our call as soon as possible. This is not a solicitation call, but in regards to your credit card with us. Please call us as soon as possible."
So started my day as I awoke to find this message on my answering machine. My initial thought wondered how valid the call was. Have you ever had the phone company or the cable company ring you up for a friendly chat on what you think of their product, and, oh by the way, "would you like to add a few extra services to your bill?" It wouldn't be the first time some sleazy salesperson with corrupt definition of "not a solicitation call" had me call them back.
Yet, the bank representative did have an air of urgency in her voice. Reluctantly, I dialed the number left in the message. Maybe in their little, black, banking hearts, guilt had made they give up the evils of charging me interest. But no. Turns out that, somehow, somewhere, someone got hold of my credit card's number and made several large purchases.
This amazed me. How did the thief know my credit card number? I had not bought anything in a several months. Besides, there, in my sweating hand, was my compromised card. Are we dealing with psychic criminals now? No, the bank rep speculated that someone may have hack into a merchant's site, or simply had access to a business's old records. He said they would be investigating and not to worry.
So, with new plastic money on the way, I'm cutting up my now-cancelled card. And, just to be safe, I'm also wrapping my head in tin foil. We can't risk someone trying to read my mind for account numbers now, can we.
So started my day as I awoke to find this message on my answering machine. My initial thought wondered how valid the call was. Have you ever had the phone company or the cable company ring you up for a friendly chat on what you think of their product, and, oh by the way, "would you like to add a few extra services to your bill?" It wouldn't be the first time some sleazy salesperson with corrupt definition of "not a solicitation call" had me call them back.
Yet, the bank representative did have an air of urgency in her voice. Reluctantly, I dialed the number left in the message. Maybe in their little, black, banking hearts, guilt had made they give up the evils of charging me interest. But no. Turns out that, somehow, somewhere, someone got hold of my credit card's number and made several large purchases.
This amazed me. How did the thief know my credit card number? I had not bought anything in a several months. Besides, there, in my sweating hand, was my compromised card. Are we dealing with psychic criminals now? No, the bank rep speculated that someone may have hack into a merchant's site, or simply had access to a business's old records. He said they would be investigating and not to worry.
So, with new plastic money on the way, I'm cutting up my now-cancelled card. And, just to be safe, I'm also wrapping my head in tin foil. We can't risk someone trying to read my mind for account numbers now, can we.
Thursday, April 05, 2012
This Sunday's activities.
After the kids work up an appetite while hunting for Easter eggs, do you think a lunch of rabbit stew and beer would be a good idea?
Yeah, you're right. Serving beer would be a bit insensitive.
Yeah, you're right. Serving beer would be a bit insensitive.
Tuesday, April 03, 2012
didn't see it coming.
My brave, blind friend broke up with his seeing-eye dog. Actually, his dog broke up with him saying, "I think we should start seeing for other people. Ok, yes, it's me, not you."
Since the terrible day, we've been finding my friend beside himself with grief - then we'll pick up his cat, grief, and lead my friend to his apartment. There's a good reason why seeing-eye cats are not major help-mates among the blind community.
But you know how it is after a break up - that rebound partner is always the strangest. And "once you go cat, you'll never go back" ... because you are lost!
Sadly, my good, brave, blind friend didn't see this coming. Obviously.
Since the terrible day, we've been finding my friend beside himself with grief - then we'll pick up his cat, grief, and lead my friend to his apartment. There's a good reason why seeing-eye cats are not major help-mates among the blind community.
But you know how it is after a break up - that rebound partner is always the strangest. And "once you go cat, you'll never go back" ... because you are lost!
Sadly, my good, brave, blind friend didn't see this coming. Obviously.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
absolutely mesmerizing.
This graphic is updated hourly from the National Weather Service's wind data reports. What do you think?
Pursing my lips
A few years ago, my potential mom-in-law gave my potential wife-to-be one of those expensive Nino Bossi purses. Yesterday, I noticed that my possible lifetime mate had stapled one of the straps that had broke back on to this extravagant bag. Obviously, she is in need of a new purse.
Given my engineer training, I immediately began concentrating on the 3 F's: form, fit, function. I had my almost-love-of-my-life empty her purse. Out poured wallets and checkbooks (note the plural), enough keys to unlock every locker at a New York City bus station, a mountain of candies to make Willy Wonka jealousy, half of the Amazon forest in the form of paper receipts, and more embarrassing items than I care to mention.
Being the practical guy that I am, I suggested she get one of those small backpacks. She replied by adding two more F's to my strict engineering guidelines: fashion and an expression not printable in polite company.
Every day with her is such a joy. Perhaps "potential wife-to-be" is too definite of a term.
Given my engineer training, I immediately began concentrating on the 3 F's: form, fit, function. I had my almost-love-of-my-life empty her purse. Out poured wallets and checkbooks (note the plural), enough keys to unlock every locker at a New York City bus station, a mountain of candies to make Willy Wonka jealousy, half of the Amazon forest in the form of paper receipts, and more embarrassing items than I care to mention.
Being the practical guy that I am, I suggested she get one of those small backpacks. She replied by adding two more F's to my strict engineering guidelines: fashion and an expression not printable in polite company.
Every day with her is such a joy. Perhaps "potential wife-to-be" is too definite of a term.
Friday, March 30, 2012
Mega-Millions? Not for me.
I'm not playing the Mega-millions for one simple reason: I'm afraid I will beat the daunting risk of 1 in 175 million and win. This means I will have proved I can beat the odds - any of them.
So, during my resulting vacationing trip to Hawaii, I will get attacked by a shark (odds: 1 in 11.5 million). As the ambulance rushes me to the hospital, we hit a Hawaiian deer (odds: 1 in 6,267). I then deliver conjoined twins (odds: 1 in 200,000), or so the hospital mistakenly charges me for (odds: 1 in 2).
No, I'm staying safe and sound, huddled under my blanket, in my closet, in a iron safe with the door shut. Odds of me getting out ... oh crap, I didn't count on that. Help!
So, during my resulting vacationing trip to Hawaii, I will get attacked by a shark (odds: 1 in 11.5 million). As the ambulance rushes me to the hospital, we hit a Hawaiian deer (odds: 1 in 6,267). I then deliver conjoined twins (odds: 1 in 200,000), or so the hospital mistakenly charges me for (odds: 1 in 2).
No, I'm staying safe and sound, huddled under my blanket, in my closet, in a iron safe with the door shut. Odds of me getting out ... oh crap, I didn't count on that. Help!
Thursday, March 29, 2012
bacon, bacon, bacon, bacon.
I'm not making this up! Honest! So if your dog needs another reason to look for tasty treats in the cat's litter box, Clorex now has bacon-scented cat litter. Mmmm Mmmmm.
In an upcoming commercial, a happy dog looks up into the camera and says, "My, my, I don't know what the cat's been eating but this delicious bacon has a crunch AND a squish! I'm so full of joy right now, lots of tootsie rolls of joy; I need to find someone and give their face several licks of thanks! Bacon, bacon, bacon, bacon, bacon"
In an upcoming commercial, a happy dog looks up into the camera and says, "My, my, I don't know what the cat's been eating but this delicious bacon has a crunch AND a squish! I'm so full of joy right now, lots of tootsie rolls of joy; I need to find someone and give their face several licks of thanks! Bacon, bacon, bacon, bacon, bacon"
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
spread out, spread out
When I was younger, I often heard my elders talk about "the middle-age spread". I thought it meant you would become very wealthy by your middle-age years, buy lots of land, and then brag about the acres of spread you own.
Now that I am middle-aged, I can see that I've been sorely misled. Still, the dreaded middle-aged spread has not affected my abdomen too much. In fact, I have a very well-defined six-pack. I've just found it easier to protect my taut stomach muscles with an almost slight-ish layer of fat – "slight-ish" when compared to very fluffy pillows or a triple-decker cheeseburger with chile (extra mayo, super-size the fries, and, oh, a diet Pepsi please). Yeah, slight. Almost. Ish. Okay, so my spread is more about what I put on my bread than about the acreage that I don't have to not exercise on.
Yes, I could eat more in the form of capsules. I could start sprinkling diet pills among the candy sprinkles on my ice cream. But, with so many colorful pills available, I'm not sure what flavor goes best with banana split. And what about the side effects? I don't mean the good kind like the extra side plate you have put next to you on your table at the all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet.
Yes, I could learn more at sideeffectsofdietpills.net. That's not to say that I don't think those pills are effective. I understand they do a good job of thinning your wallet. I'm just wondering if I might be able to contain my spread with something a little more economical. Like a little duct tape. In my case, maybe a little more than just "a little". You can fix anything with duct tape. Do you know that you can reinforce a paper plate to hold two roast chickens during an outdoor BBQ? Mmmmmmm... Excuse me, my middle-age spread is calling.
Now that I am middle-aged, I can see that I've been sorely misled. Still, the dreaded middle-aged spread has not affected my abdomen too much. In fact, I have a very well-defined six-pack. I've just found it easier to protect my taut stomach muscles with an almost slight-ish layer of fat – "slight-ish" when compared to very fluffy pillows or a triple-decker cheeseburger with chile (extra mayo, super-size the fries, and, oh, a diet Pepsi please). Yeah, slight. Almost. Ish. Okay, so my spread is more about what I put on my bread than about the acreage that I don't have to not exercise on.
Yes, I could eat more in the form of capsules. I could start sprinkling diet pills among the candy sprinkles on my ice cream. But, with so many colorful pills available, I'm not sure what flavor goes best with banana split. And what about the side effects? I don't mean the good kind like the extra side plate you have put next to you on your table at the all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet.
Yes, I could learn more at sideeffectsofdietpills.net. That's not to say that I don't think those pills are effective. I understand they do a good job of thinning your wallet. I'm just wondering if I might be able to contain my spread with something a little more economical. Like a little duct tape. In my case, maybe a little more than just "a little". You can fix anything with duct tape. Do you know that you can reinforce a paper plate to hold two roast chickens during an outdoor BBQ? Mmmmmmm... Excuse me, my middle-age spread is calling.
a little uncertainty.
For almost 100 years, scientist have been telling us layman (and women) that one of the certainties of our lives rest in the Heisenberg's uncertainty principle – the idea that we cannot observe speed of a particle without affecting its course, and we cannot observe the course of a particle without affecting its speed.
No matter how certain scientist are about of this principle, it certainly didn't prove itself to the five of us standing at a street corner today. We all watched as a woman, chatting merrily on her cell phone, drove her car towards our intersection. As we watched the course of her car barreling down the roadway, her speed never changed. As we made repeated notes of her speed, her path never veered the slightest ... until she suddenly came to a disastrous stop. Not because of Heisenberg and our observational powers, but because of simpler physics - that of another car already occupying the space in front of the glowing red traffic light.
Maybe that's why this uncertainty principle works so well for scientists: particles never travel while holding tiny cell phones to their subatomic ears. Obviously, cell phone companies won't sell phone services to this tiny particles.
Why? When was the last time you heard of the phone company sending anyone a small bill? I think we can be certain of that one.
No matter how certain scientist are about of this principle, it certainly didn't prove itself to the five of us standing at a street corner today. We all watched as a woman, chatting merrily on her cell phone, drove her car towards our intersection. As we watched the course of her car barreling down the roadway, her speed never changed. As we made repeated notes of her speed, her path never veered the slightest ... until she suddenly came to a disastrous stop. Not because of Heisenberg and our observational powers, but because of simpler physics - that of another car already occupying the space in front of the glowing red traffic light.
Maybe that's why this uncertainty principle works so well for scientists: particles never travel while holding tiny cell phones to their subatomic ears. Obviously, cell phone companies won't sell phone services to this tiny particles.
Why? When was the last time you heard of the phone company sending anyone a small bill? I think we can be certain of that one.
Monday, March 26, 2012
mixin' it up
In the beginning, the Moog synthesizer met the 8-track recording system, and thus began the days of innovative audio mixing with very expensive electronic equipment. It was good and there was much rejoicing. Nay, it was great!
Of course, only a privileged few, with the limitless financial backing of their recording companies, could create the innovative musical style that still influences our tunes today.
Things are much easier now. Almost 50 years later, all you need is a few $20 in the bank and a half-baked desire to become a recording artist. The power to mix sounds with say, one of those Stanton dj mixers has never been more tempting.
Yet, with this great power comes great responsibility, as that great philosopher, Spiderman, once said. Really great. Human history is full of great examples of disastrous mixing. Over 100 years ago, someone mixed the Blue and the Gray and started a Civil War. Certainly not great. The extremely talented Richard Pryor (who is beyond great) told of the time he mixed pasteurize milk with low-fat milk, added a cookie and accidentally set himself on fire. (And ended up with a great, though painful, routine.)
So how do we stop anyone from easily mixing the unnatural with the unholy and creating musically grating terror? For example, what is there to stop someone from mixing the passionate sounds of Spanish music with a horn section of a German polka band? The next thing you know, Mexican restaurants will be filled with the sounds of Banda.
Okay, perhaps we're too late on that. But hopefully someone will think twice before mixing, say, rap with bluegrass music. Wouldn't the world sound a little better without having to worry about ... oh, square dance music. Okay, sorry, another bad example.
All I'm pointing out is that we have to be on guard against corrupting the electronic harmonies started 50 years ago. If we let some mixed-up kid get his or her hands on a cheap mixer, who knows what disasters will be unleashed on the world! The next thing you know we'll have peanut butter in our chocolate, confusion over bird calls and short computer messages, and hours of reality TV shows with rich, untalented people.
Don't mind me. I'm just trying to mix it up. Great.
Of course, only a privileged few, with the limitless financial backing of their recording companies, could create the innovative musical style that still influences our tunes today.
Things are much easier now. Almost 50 years later, all you need is a few $20 in the bank and a half-baked desire to become a recording artist. The power to mix sounds with say, one of those Stanton dj mixers has never been more tempting.
Yet, with this great power comes great responsibility, as that great philosopher, Spiderman, once said. Really great. Human history is full of great examples of disastrous mixing. Over 100 years ago, someone mixed the Blue and the Gray and started a Civil War. Certainly not great. The extremely talented Richard Pryor (who is beyond great) told of the time he mixed pasteurize milk with low-fat milk, added a cookie and accidentally set himself on fire. (And ended up with a great, though painful, routine.)
So how do we stop anyone from easily mixing the unnatural with the unholy and creating musically grating terror? For example, what is there to stop someone from mixing the passionate sounds of Spanish music with a horn section of a German polka band? The next thing you know, Mexican restaurants will be filled with the sounds of Banda.
Okay, perhaps we're too late on that. But hopefully someone will think twice before mixing, say, rap with bluegrass music. Wouldn't the world sound a little better without having to worry about ... oh, square dance music. Okay, sorry, another bad example.
All I'm pointing out is that we have to be on guard against corrupting the electronic harmonies started 50 years ago. If we let some mixed-up kid get his or her hands on a cheap mixer, who knows what disasters will be unleashed on the world! The next thing you know we'll have peanut butter in our chocolate, confusion over bird calls and short computer messages, and hours of reality TV shows with rich, untalented people.
Don't mind me. I'm just trying to mix it up. Great.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
It took 2 weeks.
Well, it happened. The big boss called me into his office - I was busted. And not the good kind of bust that involves a bra (though you could argue that I was still dealing with a boob). You would think that as a 50 year old, I would no longer have to worry about "getting in trouble", especially with authority figures. You don't know me very well, do you?
First of all, let me state for the record: I am NOT a troublemaker. A prankster, maybe. A pain of conscience to those in charge who should know better, perhaps. But I don't intentionally act as that troublesome jerk we all loathe - such as our plant manager who set the events of this post in motion.
The plant manager is not a bad fellow. He just has the car salesman's gift of being very believable while lying up a storm. Perhaps this is why upper management never notices how productive always increases when he's on vacation. As a manager, his skill involves unprovoked yelling at the female workers until they cry. Since many of these women live in fear of losing their jobs, he has gotten away with incredible episodes of sexually harassment over the years. What's not to like about the guy?
In any case, three weeks ago the powers-on-high decreed that all salary folk will henceforth swap their ID card upon entering and upon exiting the plant. "It is for your safety and we will not track this activity!", said the CFO to our smiling, salaried faces at a meeting.
Hourly people don't have to worry about this new requirement. Apparently, safety isn't a factor and hourly people are expendable. At the wages they have to settle for, I'm not surprised.
Our CFO didn't exactly lie since "they" aren't tracking anything. The plant manager, on the hand, needed something else to add to his daily activities of harassing and spirit-crushing. When he learned that he had access to the security logs, we discovered that he would spending hours tracking everyone's comings and goings and then tattle to his bosses. "So-and-so arrived 2 minutes late," he would report while failing to mention that so-and-so put in 10 salaried hours that day.
So after enough of these misleading reports to upper management, a few of us salaried peons started swapping in with our id card and then immediately swapped out as we entered the building. No one is tracking us right? Why would the CFO lie?
The joke went on for 2 weeks. The plant manager would make derisive comments whenever he saw us. Then I got called to the office of our VP of operation. "You need to swap in and out properly," he said kindly. "We just would to make sure that we know when you are safely in the building."
So now we are all good and safe little worker bees. But the joking isn't over just yet. Next comes ...
First of all, let me state for the record: I am NOT a troublemaker. A prankster, maybe. A pain of conscience to those in charge who should know better, perhaps. But I don't intentionally act as that troublesome jerk we all loathe - such as our plant manager who set the events of this post in motion.
The plant manager is not a bad fellow. He just has the car salesman's gift of being very believable while lying up a storm. Perhaps this is why upper management never notices how productive always increases when he's on vacation. As a manager, his skill involves unprovoked yelling at the female workers until they cry. Since many of these women live in fear of losing their jobs, he has gotten away with incredible episodes of sexually harassment over the years. What's not to like about the guy?
In any case, three weeks ago the powers-on-high decreed that all salary folk will henceforth swap their ID card upon entering and upon exiting the plant. "It is for your safety and we will not track this activity!", said the CFO to our smiling, salaried faces at a meeting.
Hourly people don't have to worry about this new requirement. Apparently, safety isn't a factor and hourly people are expendable. At the wages they have to settle for, I'm not surprised.
Our CFO didn't exactly lie since "they" aren't tracking anything. The plant manager, on the hand, needed something else to add to his daily activities of harassing and spirit-crushing. When he learned that he had access to the security logs, we discovered that he would spending hours tracking everyone's comings and goings and then tattle to his bosses. "So-and-so arrived 2 minutes late," he would report while failing to mention that so-and-so put in 10 salaried hours that day.
So after enough of these misleading reports to upper management, a few of us salaried peons started swapping in with our id card and then immediately swapped out as we entered the building. No one is tracking us right? Why would the CFO lie?
The joke went on for 2 weeks. The plant manager would make derisive comments whenever he saw us. Then I got called to the office of our VP of operation. "You need to swap in and out properly," he said kindly. "We just would to make sure that we know when you are safely in the building."
So now we are all good and safe little worker bees. But the joking isn't over just yet. Next comes ...
Friday, March 23, 2012
Out with the old, In with the new
The place I work at resides in a county run by a good-old-boy network of businesses and politicians. This means no Olive Garden restaurant because Mary Lou's roach infested eatery and Bubba's greasy-spoon diner would go out of business. This means no Lowe's because Fred's Hardware would have to offer more of what people want. Since Mary Lou, Bubba, Fred, and all of their kins have ties into the political system, well, it's political suicide to disappoint family. So, this large population of everyone else who's isn't kin have to travel to neighboring counties to eat better and buy what they need.
But all of this is about to change. In January, one of the old-guard politicians died and a younger upstart took his place. Yesterday, several of my fellow workers who live in the county did nothing but talk about the exciting news: There would be several walmart jobs available as a Superstore opened in the county by fall of this year.
Hopefully, this means a very welcomed and much needed change in an area of high unemployment and high taxes. All it took was a slight change in the political machinery and those two magic words "election year".
But all of this is about to change. In January, one of the old-guard politicians died and a younger upstart took his place. Yesterday, several of my fellow workers who live in the county did nothing but talk about the exciting news: There would be several walmart jobs available as a Superstore opened in the county by fall of this year.
Hopefully, this means a very welcomed and much needed change in an area of high unemployment and high taxes. All it took was a slight change in the political machinery and those two magic words "election year".
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)