Category Archives: general stuff

The Life Of A Triptime

Working with my author friend this morning I mentioned we needed to be more productive than normal as I would be leaving early. I said I would be heading for more Southern climes at noon he gave me a funny look. I told him that [REDACTED] (my village of residence) was closer to the equator than our current location (if only by about 10 km) but he wasn’t impressed. It was then I pointed out that it could be the task of generations of travelers to make the journey. If a common garden slug/snail wanted to make the journey it would take many, many generations (especially crossing the main highways along the way).

It is a matter of scale, both in time and distance. Depending on how long your measuring stick is and what a typical life expectancy extends to affects the vision of how long a journey is. A recent car commercial on TV announces their car gets an additional 2 miles per gallon in range, then states that may not sound like much until you have to walk those miles. By shifting the point of view from travel at 60 MPH to 3 MPH, the idea of a mile of distance goes from 60 seconds to a 1200 second marathon.

Fractal geometry was applied to the distance of a coastline, that the length of an irregular curve changes as you change the length of the measuring stick. Perhaps the same thing happens in life. How long our life takes depends on how large of a measuring device you use to describe it. In terms of fraction of a lifetime, a year changes from a substantial proportion to a negligible amount, a mere nibble of desert rather than a huge slice of the pie. So our four hour session would hardly be long enough for the coffee to grow cold to us while a member of the order of Ephemeroptera (a mayfly for example) would consider this the equivalent of obtaining a doctorate (starting from scratch, not just post-secondary studies).

I know I am vastly more aware of distances since my disability torched my long-distance running (er, walking) jaunts. Without my cane, a trip from the couch to the bathroom becomes an extended expedition where Sherpa guides would not only be useful, but nearly essential. A walk in the park is out of the question. Fortunately my Guardian scooter does 5.5 MPH for about 20 miles (between charges) so a ride in the park is practical. Technology is wonderful in its application. So when I depart for home at noon, my Ford Explorer will allow me to travel home in (relative) comfort in about 20 minutes (I have to pass through 8 traffic lights along the way, I will inevitably need to wait for at least 5 of them). Life is good.

Take away my tools and I can relate to the slugs in a very personal way…here comes another vehicle…

Phred

post 34 of n

Cross Your Ladders And Knock On A Black Cat

Friday was the second thirteenth of the year (yes, this post is late. It’s my fault I have been sick and the official “blame someone else day” occurs on the FIRST FTT of the year) and for many people it is a day of consternation and concern. Stevie Wonder music not withstanding, many (perhaps most) people manifest symptoms of superstition.

It is the season of beards (hockey playoffs start shortly) and “lucky socks” (and other articles of clothing). March Madness brackets are out so there are thousands of supporters performing the magical actions needed to insure their team is victorious. Players slap the appropriate spot on the trip from the locker room to the field, cryptic incantations invoke the proper deities of the opposing teams for good and for evil. Scantily clad supplicants gyrate before the masses to build up the required frenzy for the coming slaughter…er, game.

Triskaidekaphobics have their own cause for concern. Just surviving the day will be challenging enough. And November has that whole election thing disrupting their lives, not just the usual Friday fright. Broken mirrors, ominous odors and malevolent observations cascading together to bring horror to the susceptible.

What many (perhaps most) fail to understand is that because events occur in sequence does not necessarily mean they are related in a causal relationship. If the sun rises on the same day you are involved in a car accident, it is (probably) not reasonable to assert the sunrise caused the accident (especially if it happened on the way home near midnight). Cause and effect is vastly more difficult to connect than simply observing my team wins more often if I neglect to brush my teeth on game days. (Both events might occur concurrently, but it is unreasonable to assert causality!)  There has to be a reason.

“Do you know,” said Prak, “the story of the Reason?”
Arthur said that he didn’t, and Prak said that he knew that he didn’t
He told it.
One night, he said, a spaceship appeared in the sky of a planet which had never seen one before. The planet was Dalforsas, the ship was this one. It appeared as a brilliant new star moving silently across the heavens.
Primitive tribesmen who were sitting huddled on the Cold Hillsides looked up from their steaming night-drinks and pointed with trembling fingers, swearing that they had seen a sign, a sign from their gods which meant that they must now arise at last and go and slay the evil Princes of the Plains.
In the high turrets of their palaces, the Princes of the Plains looked up and saw the shining star, and received it unmistakably as a sign from their gods that they must now go and set about the accursed Tribesmen of the Cold Hillsides.
And between them, the Dwellers in the Forest looked up into the sky and saw the sigh of the new star, and saw it with fear and apprehension, for though they had never seen anything like it before, they too knew precisely what it foreshadowed, and they bowed their heads in despair.
They knew that when the rains came, it was a sign.
When the rains departed, it was a sign.
When the winds rose, it was a sign.
When the winds fell, it was a sign.
When in the land there was born at midnight of a full moon a goat with three heads, that was a sign.
When in the land there was born at some time in the afternoon a perfectly normal cat or pig with no birth complications at all, or even just a child with a retrousse nose, that too would often be taken as a sign.
So there was no doubt at all that a new star in the sky was a sign of a particularly spectacular order.
And each new sign signified the same thing – that the Princes of the Plains and the Tribesmen of the Cold Hillsides were about to beat the hell out of each other again.
This in itself wouldn’t be so bad, except that the Princes of the Plains and the Tribesmen of the Cold Hillsides always elected to beat the hell out of each other in the Forest, and it was always the Dwellers in the Forest who came off worst in these exchanges, though as far as they could see it never had anything to do with them.
      Douglas Adams, Life, the Universe, and Everything, Chapter 34

Many (perhaps most) should know better. Especially with the explosion of information and technology, we should be beyond whistling in the dark to keep evil away, pronouncing blessing after a sneeze to prevent the person’s soul from escaping, and performing ritualistic actions of knocking on wood, crossing fingers, or fondling dead animal limbs to influence the world to form more to our liking. We might not know everything (like Prak) but we certainly know more than our unenlightened ancestors did. We can use our wisdom to overcome the blind adherence to ancient ways of thinking. Prak was spot on regarding one thing…

Most of the good bits were about frogs.

Phred

Post 33 of n

March Madness Continues

My aversion to basketball just got worse over the last hour. The brackets are official and everything sports for the rest of the month will be “sweet 16” this and “final four” that. I was able to watch a hockey game (my Red Wings won) and took a nap. when I awoke, it was too late.

I am tempted to just make a truly random bracket (using a coin or die) and submit it to the local pool. Then, if (when, hahaha) i win I can show the video of my method… and maybe they will come up with a better way of spending a month on sports television programming.

WSOP anyone?

Phred

post 32 of n

Protext Is Everything

Good evening ladies and  gentlemen, this is your captain typing. I’d like to thank you for traveling with us on this trip. While checking the conditions preflight, I have been told there might be some turbulence ahead, so it is suggested your remain in your seats with your seat belt adjusted comfortably. We will try to make this trip a safe and comfortable one.

Communication is broadly defined as an attempt to transfer an idea from one mind into another. In the direct context of our foray here the method is to come up with words that will create in the minds of the readers the same images and ideas in my own head. This task is significantly easier when it involves the spoken word presented in person in conversation. The presenter can gather visual clues about the level of understanding and can obtain feedback in the form of questions for additional information or insight. Subtle shades of meaning can be provided by voice inflection and phrasing. Emphasis a single word can modify or invert the meaning of a phrase in ways nearly impossible for written text to convey (one team I worked with would change the colours of text to help show emotional charge in messages sent, red for anger, blue for indifference, green for sarcasm). In this medium, we are constrained to simply word choice and text format to attempt to convey meaning.

A hindrance that is ever present is the lack of shared experience as a base of understanding. Even the assumption of a shared language (English…I pity the non-native speakers attempting to use a translation software program to try and make clear my blogs) is insufficient to assure the successful transfer of the desired idea. In a $99 workshop taken at a Holiday Inn hotel many years ago, we listed nearly 40 meanings for the word “hog” (proper, common, and slang uses) and nearly every expression can have multiple meanings. [Editor note: the word “foray” in the second paragraph was checked in a dictionary to make sure it carried the desired “flavor”…and the third definition matched what was expected: an initial venture. To my surprise, the first two meanings, “a quick raid, usually for the purpose of taking plunder,” and “a quick, sudden attack” were totally off my original intention. My apologies if your initial read caused you to bar the door against marauding Vikings. Information from dictionary.com]

Now for the title. (Yes, my spell checker is protesting protext is not really a word, too.) I should use the word context, but there is a flaw in this word as it is written, the prefix ‘con.’ We use the words pro and con, understanding that they have opposing meanings. A person uses the word pro in places where they are in agreement with or approving of an idea or proposition. The word con carries opposition and resistance to the topic in view So to use a word in “con-text” is to disagree with or protest its use as appropriate. This seems like an anti-effective way to start an attempt af understanding.

=[TURBULENCE WARNING] Then, the same dictionary site lists the prefix actually derives from a word com (not con). More red underlines from my spell checker when typing comtext. And con (or com…) means both opposing and together in Latin, depending on usage. I think I will quit using a dictionary.

So, in an attempt to land this puppy safely and smoothly, I will try to express my main thought with clarity, simplicity, and in the best way I know how, that you the reader will form an image in your mind as closely as possible with me. Ready?

I like pie.

[I like pi, too, but that will have to wait for the day of the century posting on 3.14.15]

Phred

post 31 of n

Code Red From Blue Light

I have agreed to work with a fellow wordsmith on projects outside of the “normal” working schedule. He has taken a sabbatical and is writing a book and is working on it nights to improve his productivity. I (in a spasm of OF’s disease) agreed to join him twice a week, so after watching my bi-weekly addiction of TV I travel the ten miles to his domicile. Normally the trip would take about twenty minutes and so I should arrive before the late local news broadcast ends the sports segment.

Not tonight. Within a kilometer of arrival I am blinded by brilliant blue and red flashing lights in my rear view mirror. Pulling over (after finding a safe location to avoid traffic congestion) I turn off my vehicle and get out the essential driving paperwork (driver’s license, vehicle registration, and proof of insurance, all of which are required to drive legally in the state of Michigan), open my window, and await the arrival of the local police officer at my side. Officer Turner came up and (as is customary) shined his Mag-Light flashlight in my car and greeted me pleasantly, asking for the a fore described pieces of documentation. I presented the officer with the paperwork and he returned all (but the license) and asked if I was currently still living in [REDACTED], which was located in the opposite direction from my car’s facing. I indicated that “yes, I still live in [REDACTED].” I was then asked where I was heading this evening and my response of “to a friend’s house, Mr. [REDACTED] just a short distance up the road to study together” was met with a pleasant “uh huh”, follower by “do you know your car is quite loud? I could hear it with my windows up.”

I explained that a person from our church examined it and said there was a flange that attaches the catalytic converter to the exhaust system, and there is a gasket that is supposed to be present, but that is was currently missing from my vehicle. He nodded and said “please wait here in the car just a moment” while the officer went back to check the validity of my documents.

I think that’s what he did. He might have been checking to see if there was any warrants out for my arrest, recent criminal activity I might have been a part of, or checking the score of the late night basketball game. I could not tell anything as the lights from the patrol car were designed to make observing anything not directly in front of my car nearly impossible. Apparently my answers were satisfactory as he returned and delivered my license back with a suggestion that I get my car fixed as quickly as would be reasonably possible. We exchanged pleasantries and departed, each to our destinations.

Just over an hour has passed. I believe my heart rate and blood pressure have returned to near what they were before the incident. A confession: I am about as safe a driver as you will find. I have driven over two million miles in the last forty years, including log books for about a million while driving trucks for the propane company. I have had two moving violations over my lifetime, one for speeding (driving 35 in a 25 MPH zone) and failure to come to a complete stop at a stop sign. The last of these occurred in 1974. (Technically I had a third for driving without registration and proof of insurance also in 1974, but that ticket was canceled as I was the designated driver for a car full of wasted college students from out of state coming home from a concert…it’s a long story and will – perhaps – be posted at another time.) I was the victim of three accidents while driving truck, being hit (the other driver was at fault in each case) and have hit two deer (also not my fault) one causing a flat tire and the other taking out a fog light. Never any injuries, never any claims against insurance.  I drive below the posted speed limit most of the time, and at the limits when forced. Most of the time, I even drive 60 on the expressways where the speed limit is 70, always in the slow lane. I always wear my seat belt (even in parking lots…causing much humor when I forget and try to get out of the car). I even obey the yellow lines in parking lots that setup lanes for traffic flow and don’t cut through empty parking spaces.

But getting pulled over is STILL a traumatic experience. I know I am not speeding, I had just waited for a red traffic light to change before being pulled over, no violations (except noise), having done nothing wrong. Yet I was reliving my teenage years and the trama of being confronted by the law, and reacted now as I had then, with fear and trembling. I was probably old enough to have been the office’s grandfather (dad’ at the very least) but that didn’t matter. What I was feeling was not within my control. Officer Turner was in all ways a professional. He was courteous, pleasant and respectful. At no time did I have any grounds for the emotions I was experiencing based on our interaction (apart from the event itself).

I believe based on my life experience that my encounter tonight with the police is typical of the service provided in this community. I feel that I was not treated differently than any other person pulled over for the same event would have been treated. I have been told I am wrong.

I have been told of racial profiling, of being hassled by officials because a person was [REDACTED], [REDACTED], or even [REDACTED]. That I would not receive the same treatment because I am an [REDACTED] [REDACTED] person. I have been told that I am naive to hold my beliefs of equality within the law and that I am a [REDACTED]. (Truth is, as a teenager there was a rogue officer that DID target young drivers for special attention, officer [REDACTED]. It was well known that he would write tickets for a couple MPH over the posted limit and especially at the edge of town where the speed increased from 40 to 55 in a sweeping curve. Because even then I drove the width of the needle under the limit, I never ran afoul of his attention.)

I wonder how much of the difference in response others have had in their interactions with the police is a result of a difference in attitude. At all times I treated the officer with respect and courtesy, showing honor to the position and was not confrontational in voice, manner,  or action. I was raised to respect the law and to obey the rules in society, to the benefit of all. I hope the stories I have heard from others with differing results was flukes, outliers in the statistics of large numbers of interactions.

Because if the protectors of the flock are corrupt, all hope is lost…

Phred

post 30 of n

I’ve Created A (Sandstone) Monster

Apparently I am still a little kid at the core. I have succumb to peer pressure and done something that I vowed I would never do. It was a direct result of oppressive, unrelenting torment by several of my closest “friends” that compelled me to change my position and leap into a potentially damaging and addictive activity (against my considered, and better judgement).

I have become a player of MineCraft™.

Oh, the horror of it all. To think, just today rather than spending time working on my writing projects (including this blog) or taking time to attend to the basic housekeeping activities that are needed, I spent the afternoon building components to outfit my laboratory. Instead of reading recipes for cooking the pork loin I purchased for dinner tomorrow, I poured over recipes to create sheers from iron ingots and beds from wooden slats and wool (which was what the sheers were needed for in the first place). I haven’t removed the debris from around my apartment but cleared the vegetation from around my hovel (and quickly ran inside as the skeletons approached).

Now, in my defense, I was persuaded to take up this activity as a socializing event with others from my circle of influence. Last evening there were five of us working at the same time and chatting to one another while playing. We were separated by over a dozen miles between each of us, so we would not have been able to meet for socializing were we required to travel to a common location. Being in a mine was a socially stimulating activity that brought utility to each of us.

But the darker side of addiction surfaced today. After awaking from my nap (triggered in part by the onset of Daylight Saving Time this morning), my intent was to check my e-mail inbox and blog stats and then post a segment. Bad idea, since the first e-mail message I read described how the owner of the MC server had just installed a Mumble server to allow easier chatting while we were playing, and requested someone to try it out. And I did…losing about 4 hours of productive daylight. While I setup my client to talk, I linked into the world to check if anyone else was there (nope, but that didn’t stop me from working a while). One thing led to another and next thing I knew, I looked like I could do a body double for Castaway (except  that I would need to lose about 170 pounds and grow many more muscles to match Mr. Hank’s physique).

Step 1. Admit I have a problem… no, I can quit anytime.. Tell you what, I will look and see if there is anyone on and get back to you…

Phred

post 29 of n

Birthday Candle Induced COPD

Birthday celebrations carry different levels of significance depending on your age. When you are celebrating your first one, you couldn’t care less. You have no idea why today is any different than yesterday. Mom and Dad are making a big fuss, as are almost everyone else in the room (an older sibling might be “fitching a pit” because they are not getting enough attention, but this, too, will pass). B-day 2 is slightly more important, probably because of the lead up excitement tends to carry over. You will have developed some understanding of the patterns of life and might notice today is different somehow. And there’s cake. Then you go to bed and life continues pretty much as before.

The bar gets set higher each year for the next half dozen or so, then seems to level out. Oh, it’s a great day, your B-day, but now it’s not necessarily the high point of your year (late December takes center stage) or the single focus point it might have been before. Other holidays are recognized and anticipated (the spring and fall candy festivals rank highly with people under the age of majority).

Over time, as the calendars pile up on the closet floor, other mileposts loom in the distance. You become “old enough to…” do various things. Drive a car, get a job, get a “friend” (rather than a buddy). Eventually you can drink, vote, and get drafted (not so much now, but a VERY frightening area of growing up during the ’60’s and ’70’s).

But eventually, you hit a plateau, where adding another notch on the belt of life is pretty much just another day (however, one with cake and ice cream). You don’t generally get any substantial benefits from what you had the day before (some restaurants will discount your meal based on your age, but a 1% additional reduction won’t cover the taxes for the meal). And there become certain milestone numbers that actual have additional stress attached (more emotional than rational, but for adult males the first doctor’s appointment after the big 5-0 has “thrills” that can be unnerving to contemplate). Decade numbers (30, 40, 50, …) are all mental triggers you are indeed getting old(er). For some, that is unsettling at best.  Some simply choose to deny or ignore the numbers as they get larger.

I was at a friend’s forty-first (it is less stressful to see it written this way than to just put “41” out there) birthday party. There was around twenty people around and we sat and enjoyed stories and talk (and the mandatory cake and ice cream). Overall it went well, but there was a comment made that really brought us back to reality. Someone mentioned that we didn’t do the same things we had a couple of years ago (might have been referencing a bowling event following the C&IC segment). As the night wore on people excused themselves to depart for home, and eventually the celebrant also departed for home and bed. The end of the event sort of fizzled out and ended with more of a whimper than a bang.

In fairness, there are children tangentially involved that were not “present” during earlier celebrations (I still have one of the “It’s a Boy” cigars as proof) so dad can be exonerated for seeking an opportunity to catch a few additional moments of shut eye. And gravity has increased (continues to grow larger with each passing year) while the length of each day grows shorter over time (while there is about the same amount of light in each day as when I was a kid, they don’t put anywhere as much dark in the nights anymore… just look at the bags under my eyes). So a (more) sedate party should not come as a surprise anymore.

I’m just not looking forward to the pit stops during the upcoming wheelchair races in the (hopefully distant) future.

Phred

post 28 of n

Interest Withdrawl From My Account At Daylight Savings

This Sunday is one of my two least favorite days of the year*. At 0200 (2:00 AM) my part of the world shifts to “Daylight Saving Time” and the clocks leap a full hour ahead (a perverse form of time travel with no perceivable benefit). This means I lose an hour of sleep and a great deal of value in my various “Emotional Savings Accounts” with others as it usually takes a couple of weeks before my anger and aggravation drops to near-normal levels.

I don’t remember exactly when the shift first began in my experience (the Wiki entry on Daylight Saving Time gives sometime in the 1970’s) but I do remember it being a real pain. Had to get up earlier for school, it stayed light longer in the evening, so it didn’t seem like time to go in (sunset moved later in time so dark came later at night… and who wants to go to bed if it’s not ‘night’ yet?). Eventually, we got acclimated to the change, usually just about the time for the shift back in the fall (back then the changes took place closer together, about 6 months long) when the cycle of adjustment started over again. I think there was a couple of years of debate and votes to approve the change before it was accepted by accident (the wording was to vote NO if you wanted to use DST… most people didn’t like it at first).

Now it doesn’t really matter anymore. Everyone has been subjected to the condition for so long it has become customary. You just “do it” and use the time change as a reminder to check the batteries in your smoke detectors (the method we used to do was wait for the crickets chirp to become so annoying that SOMEONE HAD to drag the ladder in and change the stupid things). Even though your biannual event does not halve the year evenly. In fact, we spend nearly double the  time with the clocks wrong (ahead of solar time) than matching the real world. I suppose this is “better” because when the change took place in April or May, commuting into the rising sun became a hazardous adventure twice each spring. By changing so early in the year, most drivers are going into work while it is still dark before the change, thus endangering each other only one month rather than two, but that’s a small gain.

If we were living in a primarily agrarian society, I might  buy the benefit of the change, but living by the electric time master (who doesn’t care if the sun even exists, for that matter… take serving on a nuclear sub for 90 days without surfacing for example) makes the change pointless for many and painful for some. A close friend of mine suffers from SAD (Seasonal Affect Disorder) and his depression in the dark months is terrifying. DST makes the day start earlier, so he awakens with more darkness ahead than behind, and suffers more severely. My depression is not so sensitive to light/dark cycles, but it is affected by my relationships with others, so the enemy of my friend is my enemy, too. (Maybe ‘enemy’ is too strong a term. Perhaps ‘tormenter’ is more appropriate.)

In any case, I desperately need to spend the next two days being extra nice to as many people as I possibly can.

Because, for most of the month of March, I will be a real jerk…

Phred

post 27 of n

(* For the record, the other worst day is the change back in the late fall. In theory we get an extra hour sleep, but it seldom works out that way…normally we can “stay up an extra hour” and sleep still suffers. HATE HATE HATE DST.)

A Recipe For Disappointment

I like pie.

I like food in general. I like to cook, I like to eat. (I HATE to clean, so eventually there is a balancing of forces in the universe. I haven’t exploded yet.) Among the 25 (estimated) bookshelves in my apartment, there are (at least) two dedicated to cookbooks (I have almost twenty books for my bread machine alone). In general, I will try anything once (kimchee, for example…only once, though) and have added to my addiction by subscribing to a few / several / many / most (?) websites about food. I get new teasers daily in my inbox. Fun, right?

Well, not so much. I know I am getting older, and understand with aging tastes change and become less pronounced over time, but I never expected it to be this bad this quickly. To my horror, I am finding that it doesn’t matter whether it is Italian or Oriental, Thai, Mexican, or Jamaican, they pretty much taste the same. Or if it is main dishes, deserts, confectionery delights or decadent cookies loaded with fat and sugar. The most mundane to the most exotic, containing animal, vegetable, or mineral ingredients, it simply doesn’t matter. I check out every new recipe on my computer,

When I lick the screen for a sample, they all taste like dust…

Phred

Post 24 of n

EOM Progress Reportcard

Turn the calendar page and look back? Seems strange, but sometimes the best way to plan for the future is to take stock of where you’ve been and what you’ve done.

February was the start of this adventure (and not for the whole month) and saw 21 posts viewed by 87 visitors a total of 216 times (some pages viewed more than others, of course). 6 people liked entries, (in WP, others made comments in FB but they don’t show up on the statistics page here), 5 people made comments and 4 people became POP (Phollowers Of Phred). And, perhaps the most interesting (amazing?) stat from the first three weeks of work is there were 2 viewers from other countries (Turkey and Pakistan).

I am blown away. The results greatly exceeded my mildest expectations.(What, you thought I’d say “wildest” expectations? Were I to voice those I would be presented with a new place of lodging where my every need would be attended to, complete with a brand new wardrobe of long-sleeved canvas shirts that tie up the back and monogrammed upside down to assist in remembering who I am supposed to be….) I expected my friends to take a glance a couple of times but the coolest thing was how I would post an entry and often before I could refresh my pages in the browser someone would have already viewed the post.  I am totally in awe of this world I have leaped into.

And what a world it is, indeed. I have spent much more time reading and looking than writing. I find myself reading posts on topics that last year I would never have thought to glance at, and each discovery requires reading several other posts by each author to satisfy my curiosity. Thank you, fellow bloggers, for doing what I am and so, so much more. You are driving me to do more and better this month (and the next, and …)

This month was easier than I had anticipated (though I had intentionally set the bar of 3+ posts a week really low to make it easy to reach. Thanks Leo (of Zen Habits) for the pattern of habit building.

Stay tuned for more.

Phred

post 22 of n