Venus and Mercury Don't Know Their Names

While the Great Mother and the Great Father put forward the continuous conversation of the ancient ones, I turned my head to hear a noise.

A sound.

"My name is Sherry," she said.

I closed my eyes to see the sound without visual stimuli.

We run our editing machines without noticing what we cut out.

The rumble in my bones of a train passing by.

Tinnitus.

We are one planet of people ... still ... listen.

The flow of centripetal/centrifugal/Coriolis forces.

Wind.

Magma.

States of energy.

Intersecting undulating wave patterns disguised as particles.

We eat.  We drink.

We consume.

Local.  Global.  Universal. -al.

Contumely.

The reflection of the sun - albedo.

Many neighbours visible right now - Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Venus, Mercury - the eye unaided by magnifying lenses.

The continuous conversation continues ...

Assume everything reduces to sand and dust.

Assume this life is the only life in which you get to be you.

Assume you assume nothing.

You live because others want you to live.  Others live because you want them to live.

Life is life - think and act simply.

Breathe deeply - the air is free.

Who puts food in the mouth of the person who puts food in the mouth of the person who puts food in your mouth?

What is the food you put in your mouth?  Where did the food come from?

Civilisation is one simple source of food depending on another.

What do I give the next generation to put civilisation in perspective?  The latest sports/fashion/music/technology trend will find its way here with or without me.  The hardest working man in show biz and the Japanese anime superstar rise on their own merits.

Do I put aside retirement and dive into the trendsetter world again, where Shanghai and Sao Paolo become realistic dots in my rods and cones that expand into street players and factory designers who appear on tomorrow's headline news?  In retirement, I watch how people train their dragons in animated cinema and how BBQ is prepared at Charlie's.

How many languages and dialects do you speak?  What jargonese dominates your vocabulary?  Are you fabless or are you fabulous?  Can you tell agar from a jar?  Can you smoothly transition from chemistry to physics to biology to psychology to public speaking to sports to family matters to nuclear medicine to forensic pathology to politics to astronomy to business to fashion to speechwriting to fishing in the same sentence?

Do you have a universal theory of everything just waiting to be heard and verified by the experts?

The more outlandish, the more crazy your idea sounds, the more it needs to be heard.  That's why seven billion voices count.  Every person has a vision, a dream, that differs from the next person's ever so slightly.  That slight difference makes all the difference between a species that survives and a species that excels.

Make your difference visible.

There are no right answers.  There are questions that no longer mattered after the next set of questions were asked.

So far, the only ones listening to us as we are are people - only we fully understand our emotions, our languages, our cultures. 

However, on this planet we are surrounded by organisms with many nonpeople ways to live and understand one another.

Listen to the wind.

Feel the rumble through your feet.

Wisdom is all around you in the simplicity of daily living.  Remove complications to see what is really before you.

Look at the person standing near you hunched over a rectangular-shaped object and ask yourself if you're looking at a mirror image of yourself reading something like this blog or responding to IM/SMS/facebook posts.  Who is that person and what else could that person do?

Levels of civilisation - eating, talking, texting, thinking - all reduce down to how you live your life in the moment.  Value the moment and you will see how you can help others make their moments more valuable.

After all, Venus and Mercury are labels which have nothing to do with the reflective spheres baking in solar radiation and Earth is no longer the center of the universe.  What new insight will you provide us with your crazy idea like heliocentrism or adding no holds barred cage fighting and motorbike roller derby as Olympic events?

L'élite huit

How do you measure a person's resolve?  By the person's teamwork.  Case in point: the men in orange by three in sixteen going to eight.  A Chism in a chasm, a Prince on the prowl and more than one Pearl.

Up next tomorrow - the showdown for the ladies in Memphis, home of Beale Street and Elvis Presley.

Then back up the mighty Mississipp' to see if eight goes down to four, finally.

Un jeu à la fois?  Absolument!

If A State Is Bankrupted By A Nation, Can The State Secede To Protect Its Sovereignty?

With Greece about to take down the EU and California sinking into a sea of debt, when do states/munipalities sever their ties to the mother/father land to protect their future?  Some stories ask me that question:

• States’ Rights Is Rallying Cry for Lawmakers
• State budget issues, 2009-2010
• Evolution of Fairness Driven by Culture, Not Genes
• Pennsylvania Capital Harrisburg Has Bankruptcy Option

As a global citizen focused on macro-level issues, I look forward 20 or 30 years from now when solution providers have seen the full, fresh fruit that grew out of today's endeavour to end the current government funding crisis.

By then, we may have reached the plurality stage where no majority exists in the realm of genetic designation on this continent.  What of the rest of the world?

Basketball's on - will have to check the Book of the Future tomorrow.  Tennessee won the hoops contest and Ireland lost to Scotland - what a day!

Smog Is The Reason

So, while deciding if "From Eternity To Here" is a valid representation of the arrow of time, I thought I'd enjoy a respite from the Olympics with my lovely wife and contemplate the effects of time stopped on film.  Something like "Get Shorty" on IFC.  Life is good, real good.  Y'all come back now, ya here?

Pasty White Ennui

Brown rice and tofu versus Alberta wheat and hot chocolate.  You make the call:

http://www.slate.com/id/2244503/pagenum/all/

Some news items are worth greater consideration:

http://www.mumbaimirror.com/article/2/2010021520100215031320455d737f39b/Pune-bakery-Blast-claimed-the-lives-of-a-brilliant-student-his-sister-fianc%C3%A9e-.html

Pick A Dilly Of A Dalliance, Mrs. Dalloway

Let the dead die intravenously.  Let them soak in their solace alone.  Let the lives of those who wander the planet with nothing in the way of commercially-viable victual-earning credits worry about weather or whether the ether will either let them live or weather their bones to nothing.

More books on the loan shelf:

• In Praise of Idleness and other essays by Bertrand Russell
• The Way: An Anthology of American Indian Literature, edited by Witt & Steiner
• British Women Writing Fiction, edited by Abby H. P. Werlock
• Introduction to Mathematical Philosophy by Bertrand Russell
• History as a System and other essays toward a philosophy of history by José Ortega y Gasset
• A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson

 We whittle our blocks of wood, we crochet our coils of yarns, we carve our symbols onto stone, and yet...

Yet, where are we going?  What's it all about?

A CD:

• Cikada String Quartet, in due tempi

More books:

• "And Another Thing... Douglas Adams's Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy Part Six of Three" by Eoin Colfer
• "A History of Pi" by Petr Beckmann
• "Eats, Shites and Leaves, Crap English and How to Use It" by A. Parody
• "Bathroom Reader [22nd Edition]"

Piles of pylons piling up in the writings of Ernie Pyle.  Studying humour across the hummus-eating bodies of our species.  Reading much but little into what we write.  Seeing even less in who wins or loses a match, much less a match for the ages.  Getting just as much meaning out of the temperamental changes in our cyclical weather changes as what the plants in my yard say about what's going to happen next summer, knowing they really only reflect what happened in previous seasons past but recording their forecasts for fun's sake along with a small bottle of saké.

The movements are not mine to make or take away.  The movements to observe are yours to own and make anew.

So England beats Wales and Ireland wins while the Colts falter in the land of Little Cuba and the Saints go marching back to a perfect storm of a tickertape Mardi Gras parade that leads to Lent and then St. Valentine's Day.  What of cricket for India, Pakistan, and Australia this year?  What of the worldwide gathering of futbol players in South Africa?  Is there still a good chocolate shop in Vancouver to recover one's wishes for health and happiness after a poor showing in the mountainous Olympic mismatches nearby?  What day is it, again?

Why did Avocent accept a ~$25/share bid by Emerson and APC let itself go by the wayside for Schneider Electric?  Why was I not able to exercise options above $35?  Lack of vision.  Lack of clarity.  Leadership wanting someone else to lead for a while.  Forgotten deals and forgotten feelings.  Does anyone remember the cost of the Boer Wars?  Does anyone have an accurate count of the bodies thrown aside to create the empires of Russia, India, China and the United States.  Is anyone keeping count of the back-and-forth slaughter on the African continent?  Why is there no one left to speak for the people of Machu Pikchu?

Did I tell you about the time I worked for General Electric in their Aerospace Division where we designed test equipment (acronym: CASS) for the Navy?  Do you know why I have a jaded sense of trust of government contracts in general?  Because of the way the CASS contract was [wink-wink] agreed to, with the government paying GE for writing so many lines of code per deliverable, no matter whether the code worked reliably, made sense or not, guaranteeing that GE would get follow-on contracts to fix the bad code its employees wrote.

Would you buy a product you knew wasn't going to work right the first time?  The government did, for a while, until it got wise to the schedule slips and cost overruns.  Sounds familiar to you, doesn't it?  It happens every day, somewhere, between one government and one private enterprise all the time.  It happens with the commercial software you use, to a greater or lesser extent, depending on your relationship with the software manufacturer.  Part of it is built into our genes, because we aren't perfect and can't anticipate all the causes and effects of software algorithms and GUIs.  Part of it is intentionally messy.

That's where your smarts come into play.  If the deal smells too rotten or too sweet, then you know you're on one side or the other of a product design that's probably not going to look good in the light of day.  Either take your money and run or make sure the blame rolls uphill/downhill past your doorstop.  Or be like me and never put your money where your work is.  I call it freedom.  You call it whatever you like as long as I pocket the profit and can choose how to spend my untaxed earnings.

Time for a dry/wry philosophical story and let love linger in your thoughts for a more detailed tale of descriptive, contemplative, offscreen rendezvous later in your/our future...

Black and Blue

Sarafina clipped the hair around my ear.  "So you think it'll be a good game?"

"I hope so."  I looked at Sarafina's face while she cut the hair around the base of my neck.  I don't know hairstyles so the best I can describe hers is coquettish, with bangs combed down to cover one side of her face, her left eye peering flirtingly through her platinum locks.  "I know the Manning family'll be proud of their son and his team, no matter who wins."

"Oh yes.  Peyton.  He's great.  I bet the halftime show will be okay.  The Who, is it?"

"Or the Rolling Stones?"

"Something like that."

"I'm trying to remember the last band that did the Super Bowl halftime show who I saw in person.  Guess it was Prince...in 1983 or thereabouts."

"Wasn't that show awesome?"

"It was.  I think he toured with Vanity 6 and Time.  There was a boxer who sat near me.  Umm...John Holmes?"

Lucillia looked over at me while thumbing through her tunes on her iPod.  "John Holmes?  You mean Larry Holmes, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, 'cause John Holmes was a porn star."

"Good point."

"Yeah, there's a bit of a difference between the two.  Or I imagine there is."

"Well, I guess you're right.  Having to imagine one of them, huh?"

We all laughed.

Sarafina spun my chair around.  "There you go.  You like it?"

I looked at my trimmed head.  No longer the shaggy dog look and more like the professional amateur professional I am, keeping deals moving smoothly for those who require my services without overtly requesting my services.  "Fantastic, 'fina.  You're grand."

"You know any good Super Bowl parties going on nearby?  I...I mean, I and my boyfriend are looking for one to attend close by, seeing as I don't get off work until five."

"Can't say as I do.  I've got plans myself."

"I see."

= = =

After paying Sarafina, I picked up my wife and stopped by her sister in-law's house for an early St. Valentine's Day Sunday dinner, including roast beef, stewed potatoes, steamed corns and a heart-shaped brownie cake topped with Mayfield vanilla ice cream.  We chatted with the family for a while, catching up on what my nephew, his girlfriend and my niece and her husband have been up to.

Afterward, we swung by the Wagon Wheel liquor store, a hop and a skip from our house, to buy some high gravity brews including a Left Hand Imperial Stout and something else I can't remember but will enjoy soon, I'm sure.  I noticed the fellows hanging out inside, regular blokes, the type one would hope to have sitting on barstools beside you in the pub, chewing the tire flat, shooting the Febreze, and letting the insults fly from one wallflower to one barfly and back to ya, laughter all around.

We wheeled our wagon over to Wal-Mart and ran down the list of groceries necessary for consuming during the American football spectacle about to take place as soon as I finish recording this important conversation.

I'd noticed a fellow sauntering between rows of frozen food and fresh bread.  Upon turning down the facial tissue aisle, he stopped us, taking off his hat (a toboggan) in a gentlemanly manner.

"Is your name O'Leary?"

"O'Leary?"

"Yes."

"No, 'tisn't."

"No?  Well, I know a fellow by the name of O'Leary."

"Not me."

"I see.  You ever been to Coleraine?"

"No."

"No?  How about Portrush?"

"Never heard of it."

"You sure about that?"

"As far as I know."

"I see.  Well, I attended a wedding in those parts back in '76.  Quite a wedding.  Held in what they called a Sheraton because they needed a place big enough to hold 250 people.  At the reception, they use the time-honoured tradition of having the oldest male of each family and generation introduce the bride, and the same for the groom, going all the way up to the grandfathers and great-grandfathers.  All we had to drink was a mixture of Guinness and lemonade or whiskey.  When the introductions were over, I was drunk.  Then they announced the presence of an American, Danny.  That's me.  Well, I being drunk and seeing the sign outside the window of a dead man with the word 'INTERNMENT' on it, designating what the British do to the Irish, I took my turn at the mike and spoke up.

"I looked them all in the eye and I told them that 250 years ago our ancestors, the Scots and the Irish, we took up arms to defend ourselves against the tyranny of the British and we drove them out to sea.  Now, I look at you here and I see men who do the cowardly acts of blowing up women and children when you should be taking up arms to drive the British out of Ireland.  And you can do it, too.  That's what I said to them.  I expected them to throw me out on my ear.  Instead, they all stood and applauded.

"You see, it's the English what's causing all our problems still.  They don't know how to stop expanding and then they don't know how to keep invaders and the indigenous from claiming what's their rights.  I'm a Scot, you know.  Scottish and Irish blood.  We're not the ones who're to blame."

I nodded.  The man was sincere-sounding but the look in his eyes and the near-empty shopping cart told me he'd seen better times.  He followed my eyes and read my looks.

"I've been a labourer my whole life.  Them Irish, they shook my hand and expected me to be a dandy American but were surprised to find my hands calloused like theirs.  See, that's who's really running things, isn't it?"

I smiled.

"I returned in '79 and rode the train.  Second-class, of course.  Two kids, strangers, about twelve years old each, they talked me into joining them in the first-class section.  In the empty seat of the compartment we chose was a hat, a coat and a newspaper.  Eventually, the owner of them things returned and the man told me he'd traveled the whole of the United States, including Alaska and Hawaii.  He knew more about my country than I did.  When I asked him what he did for a living, he told me it wasn't nothing special.  Well, he let me borrow the newspaper, which was folded up, and there on the front page was his picture.  He was the president of the European Common Market!  See, that's how it is in Ireland.  Everyone's the same, the first-class and the second-class are no better than one another except as seen through British eyes."

My wife started walking our cart forward, a hint for us to be moving on.  I slowly walked beside her.  We wanted to finish shopping and then return to our house for the game.

"Oh, I see you folks are busy.  I guess I better be going.  Good talking with you."

I nodded.  "You, too."

He tipped his hat to me and turned away.

When my wife and I saw John at the airport earlier this week he reminded us of the old saying about European stereotypes: "The Irish are all drunk, the English are all assholes and the French run away."

We carry images in our heads of what we think we see around us.  It's best to clear those images out and meet people as they really are and not what we think they represent.  Then, and only then, can we make friends and making lasting impressions on one another.

The Fifth of February Fisticuffs

Okay, you see, I'm not here.  Got that said so let's go on to the rest of the story, about you, me and the me who's not me who's not here.  Then we'll make it complicated later on.

I had just poured myself a shot of Bushmills white label Irish whiskey, the kind John recommended when my wife and I visited he and his wife in their cottage above Lough Derg a few years ago (good to see you again at the airport today, John - hard to believe your boy is 14 years young and taller than a stalk of wild ribbon grass).  Sure, I could've had some Lynchburg mash or Kentucky fermented charcoal juice but I had the bottle in front of me, a dead writer to mourn, and what I tought was a quiet evening at home with the cats.

I carried the whiskey into the study, leaving the cats to soak up the heat from the old Kerosun kerosene heater toasting spider webs in the living room.  'Twas going to be a nice night for writing a few 'thank you' notes to the neighbours for thinking good thoughts and prayers about our eldest neighbours next door to me, the missus having a bit of breathing problems and needing a few nights' rest in the local hospital.

Then there came a rapping on the door.  Three large taps.  Loud, they were.  Like someone was going to reach me no matter if I was ten stories down in my hidden subbasement labora...well, anyway, as if I was unavailable.

Being dressed for the evening in my finest house clothes - a pair of Guinness sleep pants, a work shirt and a pullover/zipup sweater - I hesitated going to the front door.  What if is was them?  You know, "THEM"!!!!  Okay, enough for the melodrama.  I'll be serious for a moment.  Or shall I?  Well, what if it was whoever it is it isn't supposed to be?

It was.  Or it wasn't.  What it was was my neighbour, Baunivonne.  Baunivonne and I share an unsordid past so it's not like I'm going to spill the beans about something sorta sordid.  Instead, it's the future we were to share or the past from this moment looking back that I'm here to tell you about.  But in the past before that she and I shared one experience: we had the same home builder, a young man reluctantly following his father's footsteps in the house construction/repair business, she and he being...  But that's all in the past, isn't it?

Baunivonne stared at me when I answered the door.  Her eyes said one thing clearly, "It's colder than ice melting off the face of the embarrassed scientist who quoted a primary school student's report on the slowly melting career of Paul Michael Glaser and extrapolated the end of the world therefrom."  The thermometer, I imagined from our frosty breaths, would fortune a guess of a temperature in the -3 to -5 deg C range.

"Rick, I was passing by our neighbours' house, seeing if their missus was home.  She wasn't so I tought I'd wander further down the lane to your house and let you know she's not there."

"Thanks."

Her eyes continued to say she expected me to courteously invite her in, both of us stamping our feet on the rotting boards of my front deck to keep warm and test for termites in freezing weather.

"Me-ow.  Me cold," our cat Merlin cried from the open doorway, his thin Cornish Rex fur not exactly mutated for subbacolda weather.

Baunivonne changed the expression on her framed face (what was she framed for?  Nothing serious.  Eyeglasses, mainly.)  "Uh, that your cat?"

"Yep, this one's Merlin and that one in there is Erin."

"In there?"

"Uh-huh."

"Nice and toasty and warm and out of the cold?"

"Indeed."

"With us freezing our butts out here in the cold?"

"Absolutely."

She shivered, her gray, shoulder-length, no-fuss hair shaking like a feather duster.  Her expression hinted at the "There's clueless and then there's Rick" line of thinking.

I nodded and agreed with her almost-thought.  I decided to keep the conversation going.  "So, who you think's gonna win the game on Sunday?"

"The game?  Oh yeah.  Well, I'm a Saints fan going way back but the Colts sure seem to have it together this year.  I bet you're pulling for the Colts.  Or should I say Peyton Manning?"

"Well, sure, he's quarterbacking a good team and all..."

"No, I mean you being a Tennessee fan."

"Of course I'm pulling for Peyton.  He's a good-humoured kid with a well-balanced family.  His wife's doing good work.  What more could I ask for?"

"A Super Bowl win?"

"Yeah, until he wins another one I guess folks will keep comparing him to that three-ring circus clown...what's his name?"

"Tom Brady?"

"No, I mean Emmett Kelly.  Or is it P.T. Barnum they keep comparing him to?"

"You probably mean Brett Favre."

"What is it about those boys from Mississippi whose bodies won't quit?  Look at Archie.  He lasted how long with an average Saints team?"

"A long time.  Hey, you ever wonder why we're the kind of neighbours who don't go to each other's house two or three times a week for a hot cup of coffee?"

"Umm..."

"Or just show up uninvited and get asked in for a steaming cup of tea?"

"Well..."

"Or just call each other up and have a phone conversation for the hell of it?"

"Now that you mention..."

"Or just stand here like now with icy breaths and no clue what's going on?"

"I suppose.  You still rescuing cats?"

"My husband found one abandoned at an apartment complex down in Jacksonville and brought it home for me.  It's part Maine coon.  You think your cats would invite it in and be kind to it for no other reason than to at least be neighbourly, let alone offer it something to drink or eat?  It's not like it's going to offer its firstborn son to them or anything."

"Well, they've been neutered so that won't be a problem."

"[They the only ones who've been neutered?]"

"What did you say?"

"Oh, nothing.  Look, I'll let you know if I hear anything more about the missus next-door.  And thanks again for letting me know about her.  We neighbours should really pay more attention to each other as we get older, you know, with our needs and wants changing with the passing years."

"I know what you mean.  How long have we lived here?"

"I moved here in 1985."

"We moved here in 1987."

"Twenty-five and twenty-three years ago...amazing.  In all that time, I don't ever think I've been in your house."

"And I haven't been in yours."

"Doesn't that seem strange to you?"

"Yeah, I guess it does."

"Doesn't it seem something easy to fix?"

"You're right.  I ought to stop by your house and visit sometime.  Maybe see that new cat of yours."

"Yeah, I guess that's what would fix it, all right.  Not like I could come over to your place and step inside for a few minutes to get warm before I walked back to my place."

"I could see why you wouldn't want to do that, too."

"I wouldn't?"

"Yeah, I mean you intended to visit our neighbours..."

"Who've let me in their house once or twice in 25 years!"

"...And you took a few minutes out of your walk to give me an update.  I know how that is.  It breaks your concentration and changes your focus from your main objective.  I bet you're ready to get back to your place and warm up."

"That's exactly what I'm thinking...warming up right now."

"Well, Baunivonne, give me an update if you find out anything."

"Yeah, I might call you tomorrow from work, if that's okay with you."

"Sure."

"You wouldn't consider that intruding if I called you at home, with you sitting in your warm house?"

"Not at all.  Talk to you then."

"Thanks.  I'll try not to freeze to death before I get back to my house."

"Be careful.  And thanks for stopping by."

= = =

Now, that's the sort of conversation we've all had, one party saying one thing, the other party not hearing anything but the words and missing all the subtle phrasing, intonation, body language and previous history which would've helped put together a picture that even partially resembles what the first party intended.  It's the same everywhere.  I see it all the time, in politics (with China and the U.S. puffing up their chests and blowing out hot air about respect and territory and integrity when what they're really saying is something else entirely that only the cold winds of diplomacy can decipher properly (which is basically that the old deal's no longer any good and the new deal's getting foul-smelling a little too quickly for the next round of negotiations to have any hope of making the next few deals go smoothly)), in business (where a certain global entity has forgotten that distribution economies of scale mean nothing if certain products in the distribution channels have no meaning to the changing buying patterns of their customers/suppliers) and entertainment (where worldwide sports like soccer and rugby have long ago figured out how to put valuable adverts in the game to pay for their fans' viewing habits on the tellie (all but fans in America, that is)).

There's a funny picture I'm seeing, looking at an old map of our world.  Since you can't yet use my eyes and brain to see the world, I'll draw the picture with words for you.  It's this, you see.  Our world is shrinking, collapsing in on itself.  I'm no scientist but I seem to remember a spinning spherical body that gets smaller tends to grow denser and spins faster.  Doesn't that mean its gravitational pull gets stronger (the average pull, that is, with the usual lows and highs of planetary gravitational fields for you to chart out on your personal home world simulation computer)?  No, I'm sure I'm wrong - I bet I got that information from some popsci book or movie like "2010: The Year We Got LASIK and Gave Up Contacts" starring Roy 'I never bled to death from multiple shark bites' Scheider.

Did you see the light shows in Earth's sky recently?  Would you want to see more?  I'm not sure if I would.  Some "asteroids" are incompatible with what I want our species to accomplish in years to come.  I don't want some extraterrestrial runaway train to come crashing down on my party two or three thousand years from now.  I wonder if I could pull in a few more "asteroid" hits?  Of course, I don't control everything.  I just report what I see and what I think I see I know.  Those who tell me what they say they know is what I don't know if I believe is true, being the gullible type I am.  However, when enough of what they pass on to me in their clandestine, cloak-and-dagger game of hide-and-seek so that no one knows who passed these nuggets of information to me turns out to be true, then I keep finding ways to spin little stories around this stuff to keep me hungry for more amour.  You know that, of course.  It's love that keeps us together.  Else, instead of writing this you'd find me breaking a golf club over my knee in frustration of missing another nine 200-yd holes-in-one in a row or snapping my fishing pole in two because I couldn't reel in the last 20-tonne, eight-legged whale ray in the ocean, having to cut the line before I sank the Queen Mary ocean liner I'd borrowed for just such a fishing trip.

Until next time.  I've got a kitchen to stock up for the big game.  No, not the Super Bowl - I've got a Wal-Mart, Publix, Discount Food Mart and Mary's beer store within walking distance for that Miami smashmouth mosh pit.  Instead, I'm talking about the Ireland rugby team's match to be lit and fired up soon.  If I gave you a ha'penny, would you die for Ireland, little soldiers?  To be in Limerick at South's again, with John, John, and the rest of the gang - that's a sight to be rich for - we'd spend more than a ha'penny on pints, that's for sure.  When the children have no shoes on their feet, we'll still have Munster rugby in Ireland while the NFL players in America go on strike about forgetting why they can't remember who they are after being told to run at each other's heads like battering rams with little to protect them from concussive blows but padding made of modern chemicals instead of the leather of previous generations.  In all cases, use your heads wisely, folks.  You've only got one brain - pickle it with care.

Reading Faces

Question of the pre-game moment: exactly what's going on in the minds of Howie Long and Terry Bradshaw? Inquiring minds want to know...

Post-game thoughts: if Pearl's the hidden pearl we knew he would be, then there's no reason to hang our heads with the hire of Dooley because this new boy's gonna make some new recruits, fans and coaching staff wanna cry with joy.

Glad McDonnell had a good inauguration. I need to find out the story behind the lady with the whistle - her enthusiasm is intoxicating! At least my niece had a good performance in her marching band and other friends' friends did well in the VSU band, too. The words of George Washington and Patrick Henry are always inspiring, showing past Virginia governors know how to govern when they know who they represent, ALL the people, ALL the time - what a responsibility! I'm envious.

Congrats to the Boys, Too

BTW, a great game last night, for those who were interested in watching what happens in Big Orange Country when the bench becomes the Fab Five, saving the day for a team short of a few players, the result, the outcome a glorious victory over the #1 NCAA Men's Basketball team, Kansas, by THE University of Tennessee (in Knoxville).

Gilbert and Sullivan might have been a poor substitute for the Hatfields and McCoys of Texas but the boys on the court last night proved that the right substitutes can rise to the occasional grand and vainglorious occasion.

Coach Pearl is not a sideshow act promoter - he's a showman. Show us some more, man!

My Creative Friend

On this part of the planet, a colder-than-normal chill passes through the air. The baby, El Niño, and the cooling/warming Arctic, have combined to make winter cold again.

And winter brings people indoors, where we share new ideas and show off new home furnishings, new tools in the garage or new computer games.

I am not an inventive person. Instead, I hang out with my friends who have the skills and fortitude to design new inventions of their own.

For instance, a good, close friend of mine (who wishes to remain nameless) uses his house as a giant experimental breadboard / laboratory.

Back during the Thanksgiving holiday, I told him about my desire to keep the door to the entertainment room open but at the same time keeping the noise of the 7.1 surround sound system restricted to the home theatre so that my wife and her mother could entertain friends in the nearby kitchen and living room while I cranked up the sound of the football games.

So, between Thanksgiving and New Year's Eve, my friend went to work on an invisible soundproofing wall.

Have you ever walked into a building and noticed the "wall" of heat you walk through just inside the doorway? Or have you ever paid attention to the way cold air is circulated in those open bins / coolers in the grocer's market that hold vats of butter, crates of eggs and cases of beer?

Well, that describes my friend's new device.

He invited me over to his house last night for a demonstration. On one side of a doorway, he had set a 12" subwoofer enclosure, some speaker boxes configured with a variety of tweeters and midrange noisebangers, and a guitar amplifier. He had me stand a few inches from the doorway. He walked over to the stereo system and turned it on, or so it appeared. I heard nothing but I did see some odd flexing images, as if I was staring into the room across a hot carpark or desert, a mirage of my friend and his gear in front of me.

He then walked over to the doorway and flipped a switch on the wall. My ears felt like they had burst when the blaring of a Jimi Hendrix tune blasted out of the room. My friend flipped the switch again and I was left with ringing ears and the same wavering mirage.

He walked back to the surround sound system and turned it off. The mirage effect lessened. My friend flipped the switch on the wall and I heard him in mid-sentence say, "'...t do you think?"

I asked him what I'd seen so he explained in layman's terms the device he'd created and installed in the doorway. It was some sort of sound cancellation system, with an incomplete visible light alteration system in place, too.

He showed me the plans and told me he'd sent the design to two teams, one in Japan and one in China, having them work with one another to perfect the overall look and manufacturability of the system. Meanwhile, he'd contacted his American, Russian, Brazilian, Canadian and Indian software designers to come up with better algorithms to control the visible light control system. He guessed that by mid-March he'd have a working unit for me to install at my house.

We played with the doorway sound cancellation system some more. He pointed out to me that he hadn't eliminated the floor vibrations of the subwoofer but since it didn't bother me any more than the effect of a distant passing automobile full of teenagers listening to music, he'd assume that most people would accept the fact the door device was only eliminating sound through an open doorway. If they wanted more than that, they'd have to build an entertainment room in a more isolated, soundproofed room of their house.

We watched a lopsided professional American football game for a while, downing a few holiday brews, and then went downstairs to his workshop.

My friend's always toying with wood. He, like most of my friends, grew up with fathers and grandfathers who carved and sawed wood for home furnishings or children's toys. My friend's latest creation is a folding step ladder that forms a spiral staircase. He mentioned that he was tired of the same old A-frame shaped step ladder and wanted something he could unfold in a tight space that offered some stable footprint for standing on its own (unlike an extension ladder) but didn't require a huge footprint. We talked about the ladder for a while and realised that there might be a market for this ladder in the treehouse world. Or maybe even for access to lofts or other tight spaces.

I can't tell you my friend's name but I can tell you his nickname - Goldfinger. Everything he thinks about or touches turns to precious metal. If I just had the nail of that finger, I'd be a rich man myself!

As I was leaving his house, I joked about the effect one person has on society, recounting all the inventions of his that had made it into production and improved the standard of living for others. He laughed. He pointed out that one person can make a difference in many ways, including the misguided Nigerian, whose recent actions on an airplane changed the lives of others flying during the holiday season in the U.S. When did we start letting terrorists decide how the rest of the free world is supposed to live? There are times, he said, when we should ignore the actions of one person and not pretend to make our lives safer by harassing the lives of ordinary, law-abiding travelers. Not only is it demeaning but it reduces the efficiency of people transportation, like running a railroad car full of sand through a hand sifter to look for a metal ball bearing instead of using a magnet at the sand processing plant to keep metal out of the sand in the first place. Easy for him to say - he never flies on commercial airplanes. He's rich enough that people he needs to meet usually fly to his house, or if he needs to fly he takes his own private aircraft.

Anyway, can't wait to see what he invents next. Every time I open my mouth, he responds with something to improve my life and make more money for him, which he typically donates anonymously to research centers around the world, never knowing which society's going to create the next set of geniuses.

More later...time for lunch. This cold weather's making this big boy hungry! Maybe I can invent a new way to mix peanut butter, Nutella and some other ingredient for a special sandwich today.

Positive Affects

If you believe in the condition called an emotional state, then you probably believe in happiness. How do you measure happiness? Well, a website called facebook has data engineers like Adam K discussing and measuring happiness.

Maybe you can draw happiness on odosketch? [thanks to a fellow blogger I follow for suggesting that one]

Today, I sang happiness with others - friends like Leon and Flo and David - in our recitation of seasonal songs. We listened to Hal's opening line of jokes which led to a brief, but serious, dissertation on a series of repetitive ancient texts, reminding us that no matter what we think, we're just the keepers of this planet for the next round of folks who're coming up behind us.

Repetition is not bad in and of itself, as long as we keep finding something new while repeating - hearing a new song or an old song for the very first time, feeling a new emotion or an old emotion more deeply, discovering a new idea, or warmly holding/hugging a new appreciation for our lifelong friends.

My niece, a nurse, taught me a new phrase, "hospital psychosis," a condition where a patient/client becomes disoriented while in the care of an institution of healing. Not all affects are positive. Negative affects can help us learn but avoid too much repetition. Everything in moderation, including institutionalised healing.

We received a surprise holiday email from the folks at Munster Rugby - we return our holiday greetings to you with well wishes and many memorable victories in the New Year! Although college/pro American-style football dominates the news here (not to mention our watching the last-second victory by the Steelers a little while ago, which reminds me that I haven't been to a J. Buck's in a while, before Schneider bought APC, as a matter of fact), we still cheer for those who give their all with no time for advert-based breaks in the action. Who is that puny Perpignan, anyway? Final score, Munster 37 - Perpignan 14.

Another day closer to opening a gift that contains a portable Yamaha...well, shouldn't state what I know I'll be opening yet, should I? Look surprised, I will! Gift-receiving emotional outbursts of joy are just as important as gift-giving, if not more so.

Another day closer to ending this book of a blog, the World Wide art of Writing, Science, Fashion, Math, Music, Politics, Sports and Finance. Another day closer to opening the universal intranet that ties our solar system closer together and puts our galaxy a time warp, just a jump to the left and then a step to the right, away.

Time to sit back and think about the flavourful sushi appetizer and tofu curry main dish I ate at Surin earlier today. Double scoop of coconut ice cream...mmm... Speaking of which, another nod to Amanda at the Main Dish - we'll keep coming back for more, including that Louisiana tabasco sauce and maybe a slice of Black Forest cake. Guess I need to get a copy of my niece's husband's book, the Navy SEAL Physical Fitness Guide, if I want this body of mine to be able to continue to walk under its own happy weight!

Glad that new friends and old friends stay in touch.

Random Mantric Tricks

Last night watching a field general shed tears of being blessed with good health despite the other side declaring victory in battle on turf in downtown Atlanta...

Yesterday afternoon watching the smile of an art consultant in Big Cove feeling glad that her clients were finding a suitable frame for some space shuttle prints after the original frame pattern was found to be unavailable...

Friday evening stretching one's back muscles after the best deep tissue massage ever received in upper back area at the Westin Spa in Huntsville (thanks to a gift certificate from an office party giveaway)...

Thinking back to the radio announcer who compared a football moment to Leonard Nimoy...

Knowing that our species maintains separate cultures which all build belief in their versions of living waters...

Realizing how much I miss the mountains of home, the Tri-Cities area of upper east Tennessee, where Andreas has opened his new restaurant, Freiberg's, in Johnson City, and I still enjoy a good pizza at one of my Kingsport employers (now called Rush Street, then called Chicago Dough Company (and before that, a Pizza Inn in Richton Park)) where Jerry reminded me how much he loves the east TN mountains, too; going with my father to see his professorial office at ETSU and remembering my student days there; helping my father and his colleagues unload trees to sell in support of the Colonial Heights Optimist Club which supports youth; where my mother always finds tree ornaments at Colonial Heights Pharmacy, near where my wife took her mother to see the winter light display at the Bristol Motor Speedway, not far from where my wife's hometown religious center hosts an interim speaker, Earle B., who encouraged me to write this paragraph (whose ancestor, like mine, fought at the Battle of King's Mountain) and an established restaurant in Kingsport, Cheddar's, is opening a store in Huntsville...

Tossing back a hefeweizen brewski courtesy of our hometown brewer, Old Towne, at Bearegard's, to balance the habanero sauce...

Thinking about supporting the 2010 population census to understand how accurately we count, categorize and store data on people of this section of the North American continent and nearby land areas...

Recalling how world travel and immersing oneself in local cultures teaches you that there is no one way to live a good, healthy life, and that IP addresses are filtering points for maintaining sets of cultural memes, distorting reality...

Listening to the recording of a pianist like MMW and marveling at the ability of one who can repeat long stretches of typing on a set of 88 keys, making me wonder how many of us could do the same thing on a computer keyboard, practicing something like this blog entry over and over and over again and be able to repeat it with our eyes closed, speeding up and slowing down, typing softer and louder to give the words emotional meaning, even though the typing here would be a sequence of single "notes" instead of chords. Why is it we can hear a combination of musical notes and sense both their individual tones and the total harmony but we can't hear a combination of seemingly unsung words the same way? Well, leave that to the thought/brain dissectors to answer, I suppose...

When I type while listening to others' music, I suppress the music in my head which would normally come out in my word combinations, turning these words and phrases into dry deserts of ideas instead of expressing myself as purely as I think thought symphonies. In other words, I am entertaining my brain with someone else's music instead of entertaining me/you with my musical-like typing. A tough choice, listening to the wonders of the universe as discovered by musicians or creating my version of the universe in all the wonders I sense and feel when typing as if I'm totally alone, a solitary node in the web of life...

These past few weeks I have enjoyed my happiness, freedom more than an idea to me. I have known about the turmoil in the world of my species, from discotheque fires in Russia to camo/colour showdowns in the halls of Chesterfield secondary schools, but have released myself from feeling responsible for what others choose to do to represent our species on this planet. I represent our species one person at a time, in one time and one place, limited to just so many dozens of years. I take responsibility for my expression of freedom in seeing us as one species destined for more than we can imagine, growing outwardly in the definition of one species while repeating much of what we've already done, cycles within cycles, interlaced, interlocking, concentric, syncopated circles. The rest is up to you. Represent us well.

Reason # 14,539 why I love life...

Okay, like I say, I'm a regular guy just like all the other regular folks who live around here and in other parts of the world. My wife and I, after eating dinner at Thai Garden, decided to do some shopping at the world's largest small-mall-general-merchandise-department store, Wal-Mart. While looking for an electronics gift for a teenager, we asked the teenage daughter of a nearby couple shopping for a computer printer about her opinion concerning the utility of the gift. She gave us good advice.

Well, lo and behold, the young woman's parents happen to be regular folks, too, their daughter attending a local secondary school, where, incidentally, her older brother, Howard Cross, also attended, later making a name for himself as the longest playing New York Giants football player. Like Howard, his father attended the University of Alabama which will play in the national college football championship (a/k/a SEC championship) game this Saturday.

UTK

My family has multiple connections to the University of Tennessee at Knoxville, including alumni/graduates and office workers (I did my time there but didn't graduate). Factoid of the moment: tonight's NBC SNF game starring UTK grad/player Peyton Manning playing QB for Colts vs. Jerod Mayo playing LB for Patriots. Later this week, the U.S. space shuttle launch will put UTK grads in space, including Pilot Barry E. 'Butch' Wilmore (with a nod to his TTU degrees) and Spacewalker Randolph J. Bresnik. A shoutout to Mission specialist Leland D. Melvin for his brief NFL career cut short in training camp.

It's a small world, isn't it? We're one big team - I won't let you forget it, will I? ;^)

Ceremonial Ceramic

Sitting on the concrete futon. Watching accelerators. Feeling the crowd. Back in my hometown, cigars and cigarettes, trucks and SUVs, racecars and teenage drivers.

There's much to be said about not saying much. Avoiding versions of "to be." Asking what got me here and made me me. Who made me? Who's been made?

Hot dogs and hamburgers. Stadium seats and caramel-coloured sodas. 3/8ths of a mile in 15 seconds or so, around and around, bumping and scraping, pushing and smashing. Yellow light. Caution. Restarts and passes.

I was born not far from the smell of accelerant. Intoxicating. Invigorating. Inhabiting my bones. My DNA an engine for engines.

Joyce's "Dubliners" and Agee's scruffy little city. Me and the Model City. Infinitely shaken and shook, chasing the tail of Moebius, that side of Reedy Creek, men and women and their flying machines storming barns and looping reservoirs, flights by the pound long before Pal's made people LEAN in their business machinations.

Faces covered with soot and rubber marbles. Seven years of silence giving us the itch. Vines and bird droppings. Parking spaces and spaces for parking.

Two spots, two arenas. Local and international. FBS winners and UARA stars. Up in smoke and up in the air.

Fly from one to the other, one a parade of cars, another a band on parade T-ing up for the team, topping the rocky start for the season with a tiger-whipping.

J.C. (no, not that one), nearly perfect, whose mother thinks he IS a saint, hitting on all cylinders, like they say (but not like Larry's son setting records in the other K-town), putting up numbers that'll soon have agents calling secretly and offering their services. Stack the line and the missives and missiles permissively fly.

G.J. and other scout hunters grab the fruit flies, turf-tapping their way 'round the West-pressed bodies in disarray.

All's quiet on the front. A far-off refrain of "Mr.Grinch" frets the frets, $200 big ones riding hopes of fading, flickering images on the wall, grainy, grim tidings of humming bugs past Stewart's patrician, Shakespearean, Dickensian tale, or Scott's Georgian performance a farthing too pinched.

How do you stop protests? You feed the hungry. No, take that back. You stuff their mouths until their plump pusses purr with content of feline ferocity. Catnip and scratching posts and balls of yarn to keep them occupied, while you stuff your pockets with their debtors' credit card interest rates. Get them all in houses with mortgages not too heavy to break their backs but heavy enough to strap them to job-seeking occupations for office occupiers, manufacturing offshored and labored laws loosely-fitting the clothesmaking clothesless. Equalising capitalism for the masses. Those who hold a bag of coins in their hands rarely hold protest signs.

Don't ask for much and you don't get mulch. Words are not ovens and text not a scythe.

Joke about dying and die about joking. Laugh at prosperity and prosper at posterity. Give away all you've got so you can give away more. The more you give, the more you receive. The more you live in the moment, the more the moment lives in you.

The race to the moon is on but the Moon's not racing to you. In the meantime, plenty of races hold my attention while I hold yours - racecars and football and basketball - on track for winners all around. All aboard!

Triangle

Yesterday, gulped down a pint of Shakespeare Stout at the bar in Aubrey's (thanks goes out to Lana, who looks like Lea Thompson from "Back To The Future"), joined me wife at the table and then spent the afternoon chatting with my wife, cousin and cousin's granddaughter* while eating lunch. During the conversation, we watched the Talledega NASCAR race and the Colts NFL win. Our server, Amy, filled our tea glasses - great dimply smile and blue eyes!

*My first cousin, second removed, showed me mobile phone pics of her fellow 12-year old friend's deer kills - a 10-pointer and a 7-point buck. She talked about being a member of the bass fishing club in seventh grade and her preparation for the SAT test because of her invitation from the Duke Talent Identification Program to take either the SAT or ACT early. She recited pi to 30 decimal places, despite her blonde hair.

Drove home with wife beside me, listening to Patricia Cornwell's "Book of the Dead" on audio CD. Ate dinner at Shoney's in the shadow of the Tennessee-Alabama fireworks megasign. Tammy, the server, very efficient. Talked with the manager afterward about the types of messes that customers leave in the bathroom - makes me question what's the definition of adult behaviour.

Someone asked me about my last blog entry and the types of behaviour I exhibit at ballgames. In other words, what's the definition of an angry fan?

Good question. An angry fan feels the hurt from the last loss, ready to gear up excitement and cheer for the team. An angry fan is a person who gets frustrated about bonehead plays. An angry fan is different than a rabid fanatic, who foams at the mouth and screams like a dying banshee, wanting to go down on the field and show the players what the burning desire to win means. An angry fan asks what the coaches were thinking calling a play that seemed so obvious to the other team and went nowhere. An angry fan high-fives all those in the vicinity when a play goes the way you want to see a play go - interception, fumble recovery, first down, long pass/run, touchdown and the elusive, nonblocked field goal. Most importantly, an angry fan remembers to kiss his spouse after every score by the favorite team - in that case, the angry fan becomes the happy enthusiast, despite clothes soaked by a steady, cold rain in the dark.

Like the guy beside me, another angry fan, said, you don't have to worry about making field goals if the team scores touchdowns. You can keep your frustration to a minimum if you're outscoring your opponents that way.

Anger on the field of play is easy because your opponent is standing in front of you wearing a uniform that is easy to distinguish from yours. You outcompete your opponent in every moment. In the stands, anger is usually directed at the field but when a nearby fan wears the opponent's colours, you lightheartedly outcompete the fan in shouting for your team. Some people get the humour in shouting funny comebacks. Some don't. Thank goodness, the kids below us and above us had fun in such a shouting contest Saturday night. They're regular angry fans, not drunk or belligerent like some we've encountered at opponents' venues I won't name here. An angry fan is not a hooligan. It's all right to be a hooligan with your pals but leave alone the fighting and weapons (sticks, cups, stadium seats) when having a go at others in the arena. The fight's on the field, not in the stands.

I'm an old fellow now but when I was young, back in the early 1980s, I hung out with some real punks. Shaved heads. I wore a big can opener as an earring. Skateboard to a dark alley - we carried brass knuckles, socks full of lead and rocks - have a fist fight, no guns or knives allowed (knives and guns were for sissies who didn't have the courage or charisma (machismo - nix the alliteration!) to face a mano e mano fight between two unpadded bodies). None of us were much into the university sports fan scene at the time, although we fought within blocks of the university's stadium. We were our own fight club (long before fight clubs were cool, maybe somewhere between Rumble Fish and Boys and the Hood), based loosely around rival punk rock bands. Groupies were the cheerleaders/fans. Shoving and punching each other.

In those days, my smiling face was disconcerting to my opponents. Why did I smile when they were grimacing? Why did I laugh when they landed a good punch? Why? Because I had played organized football as a younger kid and had taken hits a lot harder on the football field. I had run at my football opponents from 50 yards away and rammed into them at full speed. A fist fight in the alley was like powder puff football to me.

I'm not condoning my behaviour one way or the other, alleyway hooligan or hollering stadium fan. I'm just stating facts, describing what it was like to be an example of someone like me, at peace with the world because I'm alive every moment to enjoy whatever happens, happy, sad, good, bad, up, down, turned around.

In this economic downturn, when many people are unemployed and looking for workable solutions, anger can get out of hand. Perspective is difficult to change. I begin and end my moments feeling what it is like to be alive in the moment, happy to be aware of myself being aware in the moment, regardless of emotional state. I change as I get older, tolerating incompetence less and less, time becoming a longer measuring stick but also more precious as my time on Earth winds down (14795 days, plus or minus).

Yesterday, I enjoyed spending time with extended family, knowing that every one of us is important, no matter our age or station in life. Every person has a lesson to teach us and every moment is an opportunity to learn. One day, I hope to completely understand the idea that if to me, I feel I'm not important because everyone around me is more important than me, then everyone else feels the same way; therefore, we are more important than we can possibly know and should never take advantage of the key links of you/me/us that form the triangle of life.

Ever seen an ant bridge, bodies of ants holding each other up over a crevice so the rest of the ants can cross over and forage for the colony? Inherent trust in the strength of the whole. You may have that trust already. I have a mix of that trust and a bit of skepticism thrown in for double-checking purposes. It's not that I don't trust you. It's just that I don't know the person who trusts the person who trusts the person that you trust. We may have motivations at cross-purposes. Recently, right now, in the near future, I'm figuring out if I should just go with the trust and not worry about cross-purposes. From another galaxy, a few cross-purposes within one species seem irrelevant. Time will tell the teller.

Poor Agincourt

History repeats itself. We're revising the victory at Agincourt to reflect the more likely number of assailants. Pretty soon, we'll realize that rarely do the facts line up with the facts. All victories were strength and power over poor planning rather than the bravery of the few against the massive size of the complacent.

So that's the answer to all my problems? Gather an army of like-minded folks and take on the status quo? C'est vrai! Mais oui!

Yesterday, while munching on a salmon sandwich at the 50s diner in Lamar Alexander's hometown (our server, Ashley A, with eyes the colour of a full bottle of Lea&Perrins worcestershire sauce), where you're liable to seeing Scots fighting in the field on a fall day, I looked at the wall coverings. Old vehicle licence plates and other memorandumabilia. Thought about the song on the jukebox, "The Lion Sleeps Tonight."

Victory in the Lion's Den. A soft jazz quintet at the Donors' club BBQ luncheon. Cheerleaders with names like Bruce Pearl jazzing up the crowd. Rain, drizzle, rain, memories of Bill Murray in Caddyshack, "I believe the worst is over." When was the last time two fullbacks scored TDs in the General's house? High-fiving new fans around us during the 31-13 shellacking of the Evil Genius on the 31st.

And finally, hungry for more, we stopped at Shoney's midnight breakfast bar and enjoyed Kristen's hot chocolate, glad that she's been with the company for ten years, ever since she was 16, having enjoyed the days of an employee-owned franchise before selling out to the Nashville group, her loyalty higher than stock value, her dedication to us tired fans more than we can ask for, assisted by T. Boudre with the post-game rush of folks wanting some way to celebrate taking the Gamecocks down a notch.

The universe is bigger than I can imagine, my being able to write the word light-year but have no clue how many tanks of gas it takes to drive that distance, assuming an infinity of life to drive it. Thus, for me, Kiffin and his crew put life in perspective, sharing the ups and downs of a first year college-level football coach's career, proving that Agincourt was no fluke. It might not have been David and Goliath but it was a giant of a win, anyway. If we can conquer our fears, we can conquer the distance between here and wherever we want to go, spooky halftime Southland thriller shows, included.

Glad that Peyton, Dallas and Jeff can joke about their complete ignorance when it comes to Sunday football. Glad that fans of all makes and models can enjoy el fútbol americano / अमेरिकी फुटबॉल / 아메리칸 풋볼 together, overlooking Shields-Watkins Field. I am always surprised by those who congregate for sports and glad to be surprised. Hope my new friends around me at the game didn't mind meeting the other side of me, who turns on his aggressive, angry fan mode for a few hours a week, now that I'm too old to body-slam opponents during industrial league football games, coed softball games, or church league volleyball games.

[No time for proofreading/editing this entry. 'Tis what what what iiit is. Real life interrupts with other plans.]

The Latest of the Early Wearable Computing Years

Early happy b'day to Mark M. I was more of a Rypien fan myself but without you Rypien would have been Capitol carpet, eh? A connection via Riggs was one factor in keeping up with you guys, not to mention the Honorable Heath.

While new players get circulation systems for their outfits and communications devices in their headgear, we get HUDs in other uniforms for those with more firepower. What's next?

In an old copy of "Heavy Metal" magazine, a comic detailed the firefight between two infantry divisions. Hard-fought battle. At the end, a soldier removes his exoskeletal gear and looks at the gear of his opponent, discovering his opponent is completely robotic. That '80s era scifi foretold today. What tells us of tomorrow?

What will semi-pro (i.e., college) and pro players wear on the fields of battle? When will robotic body parts become normal, like the videogames of old when robotic football players faced each other on their wheeled parts? Will players see their routes on HUDs, removing the confusion in huddles of loud stadiums? Will player body stats get displayed on trainers' laptop screens? Will nanoscale drug capsules get released when pain relief or adrenaline doses are needed? Will smart padding absorb and spread contact pressure, preventing concussions and broken bones?

Will football fields become electronically active and track the 3D position of footballs? Will players and balls be able to switch between live slo-mo and accelerated action? Will 3D advert placement become part of every piece of the field, including players, refs, yard markers, coaches, field goals, etc., like wearable electronic art?

Will fans get to have football helmet cams to track like NASCAR car cams, following their favorite players on iPhones during the game, with pay per view allowing expletives and body slamming to be heard in 7.1 sound?

Will players work with their agents to franchise their images for robotic leagues? Multiple Peyton Mannings at quarterback? Adrian Peterson at RB? Mean Joe Green coming back from "retirement"? Reggie White coming back from the dead?

Semi-pro (sorry, college) players will share the rights of their robotic images with their teams, trading revenue for college credits in such classes as "Branding Entrepreneurship" and "Image Capitalisation." Fans can take the robotic role of their favorite players during off weekends, filling stadiums many times during the year, not just for home games, playing anybody from any year against the other team's mix of players and eras, in the FRC (Football Robotic Championship level, of course). DARPA will use information from these college/university performances to tweak their robotic fighting forces, a version of Robocop just a hard metal step around the corner.

Bookmakers learn the names and capabilities of FRC design engineering students and professors just like college football players today. They track the professional careers of robot designers. New revenue streams appear in the hacking of robot players to fix games.

And that's when terrorists will take over Antarctica, using clandestine robotic units to set up robot factories, training camps and synthetic drug manufacturing facilities where few will tread. Submarines to transport e-army units and drug shipments around the planet (submarines disguised as whales, of course, taking down both Japanese whaling vessels and Greenpeace ships that get in their path).

The future is a fun place to play. Anything is possible. Some things appear just as predicted. Surprises surface and steer the future in a whole new direction.

Too bad the Hokies ran out of gas. I don't want to see another opponent's field goals for a while! Night, y'all. More international info on the morrow. A big hint. While the news focuses on "Muslim extremists" (if that's not profiling/stereotyping/hate crime material, what is?), I look at cartels for more interesting futures. Power is not in being seen, it's being invisible that gets you into places nobody's looking. Once you're in, nobody's paying attention because you're one of them/us. After that? Just because someone's no longer demonising you doesn't mean you've stopped reciting history to yourself and your cohorts. You can draw the rest of the picture by now, right? No? Like I said, later on, dude.

According to associates...

According to associates, I need to pare down the pear I'm peeling and watch where my core is. Dripping juice leaves trails. Seeds sprout where they shouldn't. Pardon my Scandinavian fervor but fuck you, associates. If freedom is quantifiable, we've lost our journey into space where political parties have no place to hold conventions or bar protesters. I call it like I see it, not the way I want it all the time, because I know I'm not always right. Sometimes I have to put words down to hear what I'm saying and see what others are reading. A switchboard operator doesn't say, "Sorry, I can't connect you to the requested party - you two aren't meant for each other."

Time to watch football and drink beer, a quantifiable good time!

I like my associates but if they get in my way, they're... hmm... how do I word this with legal aplomb? They're no longer in my way later on. I smile on the outside and figure out on the inside where the weak spots on the flanks are to be exploited while I hold your attention. I get what I want using input from others all the time to see if what I want profits just me or my whole species. I aim for the latter but sometimes hit the former on the head.