In the course of human events ...
Every group of people finds common bonds.
Veni, vidi, vici.
Grain and livestock. Stock markets and simulated woodgrain.
DTs and TDs.
Unity and Duality.
Oil stains on the driveway.
Saboteurs and cartels, swashbucklers and terrorists - lumped into one effect on national opinion.
For reasons I choose not to divulge, the Book of the Future is temporarily unavailable (for those who understand, imagine some significant issues were found in the analysis of a core dump). I want to tell you what the Book of the Future last said but I'm double-checking certain inputs to make sure the output says what it says and not what I think it says.
Outside my window, a crow crosses the street, pecks at a dead skunk and walks away.
A crucial contribution to the course of human events, a seat of Western Civilisation, now reduced to a negative influence on world currency markets. We should all take note. Also, exactly how did one island save civilisation with scribes and monasteries?
River routes and sea lanes.
Military detente in outer space, mutual nondestructive development of competing technologies.
Pirarucu cruising muddy waters.
Time to take a walk and listen to the wind, my ancestors melded with the environment, smelling the air for unseen changes that don't need a book of the future to say what's going to happen next.
Weather patterns and industrial output. Predicting the future is all about developing snapshots of everything happening all at once, eliminating yourself out of the picture or equating yourself with everyone else.
The worst kind of extraterrestrial existence landed long ago - why do you think we're here the way we are doing what we do?
At the sound of the tone, the time is now.
2010-04-30
2010-04-29
Clay
When you meet someone with a burning desire, a rock-solid, arrow-straight focus, do you relate?
I have known who I am from early in my life. Doesn't mean I've stayed focused on me and my desires, though.
This week, like every week of my life, I have observed those around me. I have listened to their stories. I have heard how they found their desires and focused their energy on getting what they want/wanted.
Like me, they use "I" frequently. But they also talk about "them" - their children, their spouses, their business partners, their sports buddies, their ... everyone but themselves.
I can break down these relationships from many perspectives. For instance, I can point out our atomic interactions in what defines a relationship or our relationships' effects on solar system movements.
I can look at myself writing about observing people who may or may not objectively observe themselves in their daily relationship buildups and breakdowns.
I can step into the general persona a person projects, and pretend to see the world from that person's perspective.
I can see parents and siblings and peers and the body a person sees when that person looks in a mirror.
I can be part of this moment in which I write this blog entry and part of the moments of the lives of others when they were telling me about previous moments of the lives of their family and friends.
I am a writer. I am not a professional author of a particular genre although I have published books and novels. I write because I think through written/typed words.
Because I know who I am and I know I am a person who likes to string words together, I am in control of the future focus of my thoughts and how they're articulated.
I have no desire to exist as a strong personality in the world of people. I am a chameleon who changes colours in order to find connections where they would not show themselves if my personality dominated a room full of people who may or may not have direct relationships with one another.
I step into a room and sometimes wonder who I will be in the moment. Will I be the personality who cannot stand intolerance and uses his connections to take care of business in ways some cannot tolerate (don't bother pointing out the paradox in that)? Will I be the quiet, unobtrusive kind? Will my smartass school days show themselves? Will my logical side demonstrate its capabilities?
These are questions I have repeated here in virtual space, I know. I repeat them, typically, when I find myself in a personality state that doesn't allow me to go ahead and act on my natural desire to focus on what drives me to get out of bed every day.
Today is such a moment. How do I overcome this moment? How do I reconcile the issue at hand?
Actions speak louder than words.
I am a writer. I observe others in order to hear in their voices and see in their actions the motivations that they think they keep out of the open - then I write about their motivations in relation to the world around them in the moment.
What if I deliberately put myself in a situation where I couldn't write about my observations? What/who does that make me?
"I" versus "not I" versus "not me." If I am not me - the observer/writer - then who am I?
Labor credits, in the form of electronic/physical money, buy me not only basic nourishment, clothing and housing but also creature comforts of other kinds, including food and gifts I buy for those around me.
When I take labor credits to keep me from being me, who have I become?
Every voice is important, including the voice of the one who makes other voices come to life here.
Data management and conflict resolution go hand-in-hand.
ADSL reference designs tested in a small town in northern Alabama go hand-in-hand with achieving almost 100% saturation of the high-speed Internet connections in South Korea. Same with testing an F-111 in Thailand during a conflict with Vietnam, taking time off from teaching to help make people count, hoping your son finds the burning desire to tackle opponents on the football field, losing your 87-year old father in-law to a car smashup caused by an absent-minded mobile-phone using teenager driving too fast, or retiring from a career of criminal justice to a new town you don't know.
I am a sack of wet modeling clay sitting in a corner waiting to form shapes others see as themselves. Always have been, always will be.
As a teenage Boy Scout, I was a librarian and chaplain because that's where my young writerly personality fit best.
Where I am now, where am I now?
I have known who I am from early in my life. Doesn't mean I've stayed focused on me and my desires, though.
This week, like every week of my life, I have observed those around me. I have listened to their stories. I have heard how they found their desires and focused their energy on getting what they want/wanted.
Like me, they use "I" frequently. But they also talk about "them" - their children, their spouses, their business partners, their sports buddies, their ... everyone but themselves.
I can break down these relationships from many perspectives. For instance, I can point out our atomic interactions in what defines a relationship or our relationships' effects on solar system movements.
I can look at myself writing about observing people who may or may not objectively observe themselves in their daily relationship buildups and breakdowns.
I can step into the general persona a person projects, and pretend to see the world from that person's perspective.
I can see parents and siblings and peers and the body a person sees when that person looks in a mirror.
I can be part of this moment in which I write this blog entry and part of the moments of the lives of others when they were telling me about previous moments of the lives of their family and friends.
I am a writer. I am not a professional author of a particular genre although I have published books and novels. I write because I think through written/typed words.
Because I know who I am and I know I am a person who likes to string words together, I am in control of the future focus of my thoughts and how they're articulated.
I have no desire to exist as a strong personality in the world of people. I am a chameleon who changes colours in order to find connections where they would not show themselves if my personality dominated a room full of people who may or may not have direct relationships with one another.
I step into a room and sometimes wonder who I will be in the moment. Will I be the personality who cannot stand intolerance and uses his connections to take care of business in ways some cannot tolerate (don't bother pointing out the paradox in that)? Will I be the quiet, unobtrusive kind? Will my smartass school days show themselves? Will my logical side demonstrate its capabilities?
These are questions I have repeated here in virtual space, I know. I repeat them, typically, when I find myself in a personality state that doesn't allow me to go ahead and act on my natural desire to focus on what drives me to get out of bed every day.
Today is such a moment. How do I overcome this moment? How do I reconcile the issue at hand?
Actions speak louder than words.
I am a writer. I observe others in order to hear in their voices and see in their actions the motivations that they think they keep out of the open - then I write about their motivations in relation to the world around them in the moment.
What if I deliberately put myself in a situation where I couldn't write about my observations? What/who does that make me?
"I" versus "not I" versus "not me." If I am not me - the observer/writer - then who am I?
Labor credits, in the form of electronic/physical money, buy me not only basic nourishment, clothing and housing but also creature comforts of other kinds, including food and gifts I buy for those around me.
When I take labor credits to keep me from being me, who have I become?
Every voice is important, including the voice of the one who makes other voices come to life here.
Data management and conflict resolution go hand-in-hand.
ADSL reference designs tested in a small town in northern Alabama go hand-in-hand with achieving almost 100% saturation of the high-speed Internet connections in South Korea. Same with testing an F-111 in Thailand during a conflict with Vietnam, taking time off from teaching to help make people count, hoping your son finds the burning desire to tackle opponents on the football field, losing your 87-year old father in-law to a car smashup caused by an absent-minded mobile-phone using teenager driving too fast, or retiring from a career of criminal justice to a new town you don't know.
I am a sack of wet modeling clay sitting in a corner waiting to form shapes others see as themselves. Always have been, always will be.
As a teenage Boy Scout, I was a librarian and chaplain because that's where my young writerly personality fit best.
Where I am now, where am I now?
Insights and Beauty
At 6:45 in the morning, when I should wander in my dreams, I sit here with you, the anonymous reader (at the least, one of you is me, am I not?).
We make plans for our day one way or another. We may sit in tents in foreign fields, strategising. We may sit, stand or prostrate in a place of worship. We may think of nothing more than one bite to eat or a single drop of water to quench our thirst.
We may, given our drive to pursue life, seek beauty.
And yet, what is beauty?
Well, I'm a little sleepy this morning, too encumbered by heavy eyelids and a desire to walk back into my dreams to collect the sayings and thoughts of others before me who defined beauty in one form or another.
My Yale Book of Quotations is buried in a pile of reference material; however, I have a dictionary of quotations by Bergen Evans on top of another pile to give you, "Beauty, like supreme dominion,/ Is but supported by opinion," a quip by Benjamin Franklin in his Poor Richard's Almanack (1741).
I imagine Ben in a hurry to get his next edition of the almanac to the printing press while thinking up his ditties on the fly, a bit of wisdom mixed with expediency to make rhyme for one word with another, neither especially insightful yet humourous despite the rushed sentiment.
Beauty is a voice. Beauty is a word, spoken sincerely, whispered serenely, written meaningfully. Beauty is found in consensus and independence.
Beauty is a jury of your peers.
Beauty is sixteen people united by individual desires and motivations, irrefutably in conflict with one another philosophically, to accomplish a single purpose: to make sure everyone counts.
Beauty is a lack of adverbs to describe an ideal in your thoughts.
Beauty requires no verb form of "to be." Beauty does not have to be. Beauty :: Experientially.
Beauty exists in what makes us plan our day.
In other words, this moment equates to beauty. Or any moment ...
... The moment a person takes your picture with a mobile phone because you represent some form of beauty, whether it be the look of your face, the work of your hands, or a demonstration of your intellect.
... The moment two animals say in their own way that the ideal plumage / fur pattern / mating dance is found in the other.
Beauty is the tiniest flower and the biggest aircraft carrier.
Beauty neither gives nor takes away. Beauty connects the ideal image of one to the ideal image of the other.
Can you now see why every moment is full of beauty ... beautiful?
Plan your day knowing every moment exists beside the ideal image of you and your day becomes timeless, your friendships permanent, your value to yourself and others infinite.
No matter who you are or what you plan to do with your day.
We make plans for our day one way or another. We may sit in tents in foreign fields, strategising. We may sit, stand or prostrate in a place of worship. We may think of nothing more than one bite to eat or a single drop of water to quench our thirst.
We may, given our drive to pursue life, seek beauty.
And yet, what is beauty?
Well, I'm a little sleepy this morning, too encumbered by heavy eyelids and a desire to walk back into my dreams to collect the sayings and thoughts of others before me who defined beauty in one form or another.
My Yale Book of Quotations is buried in a pile of reference material; however, I have a dictionary of quotations by Bergen Evans on top of another pile to give you, "Beauty, like supreme dominion,/ Is but supported by opinion," a quip by Benjamin Franklin in his Poor Richard's Almanack (1741).
I imagine Ben in a hurry to get his next edition of the almanac to the printing press while thinking up his ditties on the fly, a bit of wisdom mixed with expediency to make rhyme for one word with another, neither especially insightful yet humourous despite the rushed sentiment.
Beauty is a voice. Beauty is a word, spoken sincerely, whispered serenely, written meaningfully. Beauty is found in consensus and independence.
Beauty is a jury of your peers.
Beauty is sixteen people united by individual desires and motivations, irrefutably in conflict with one another philosophically, to accomplish a single purpose: to make sure everyone counts.
Beauty is a lack of adverbs to describe an ideal in your thoughts.
Beauty requires no verb form of "to be." Beauty does not have to be. Beauty :: Experientially.
Beauty exists in what makes us plan our day.
In other words, this moment equates to beauty. Or any moment ...
... The moment a person takes your picture with a mobile phone because you represent some form of beauty, whether it be the look of your face, the work of your hands, or a demonstration of your intellect.
... The moment two animals say in their own way that the ideal plumage / fur pattern / mating dance is found in the other.
Beauty is the tiniest flower and the biggest aircraft carrier.
Beauty neither gives nor takes away. Beauty connects the ideal image of one to the ideal image of the other.
Can you now see why every moment is full of beauty ... beautiful?
Plan your day knowing every moment exists beside the ideal image of you and your day becomes timeless, your friendships permanent, your value to yourself and others infinite.
No matter who you are or what you plan to do with your day.
2010-04-28
Spears and Flutes
Now I don't expect anyone to sit here with me and reminisce about the old days, young as they are (and maybe you, too).
But there's stories folks don't tell on themselves because they're too busy living their lives to brag.
Take two friends of mine, Brent Spears and Becky Paluzzi.
When I was a kid in secondary school, a young woman - Miss Lill, I think we called her - lived for a short time across the street from us at my secondary school band director's house.
Miss Lill ended up marrying an older and distinguished gentleman by the name of Paluzzi who taught music and told funny stories. He and his new bride settled into a house in another neighbourhood.
As a local lawn boy 30 years ago, I mowed the grassy fields around people's houses, including that of my band director, Mr. Canny. My mowing job wasn't bad but it was good enough that Mr. Canny talked his music buddy, Mr. Paluzzi, into getting me to mow the grass around his house.
So, to me these were just local customers.
But Mr. Paluzzi's wife is no plain customer. Becky (or Rebecca these days) just happens to be the Suzuki method teacher for flute in the United States.
Mr. Paluzzi passed away a long time ago but I still remember the good times sitting with him and his wife after I mowed their lawn. On band trips (especially one to Daytona Beach) he brought a lot of grownup fun to us secondary school kids.
Brent Spears is another local, homegrown product who's done well for himself.
The first time I met Brent we worked for the GE Aerospace division. Brent was this young kid from the "sticks," growing up on Highway 431 outside Owens Cross Roads, Alabama. He believed Elvis was still alive.
We attended a physics class together at UAH (University of Alabama-Huntsville).
After GE closed down its engineering design center for the Navy CASS project, Brent and I went our separate ways. I worked for a sewer flow monitoring company and Brent went on to finish his engineering degree.
Brent is a founder of a local company called Invariant. The last time I saw him, he and his wife were excited about their new baby, a long but not so far away place from his father's roadside business.
I can still remember Brent as a young man telling me about watching his outdoor tom cat devouring a rabbit headfirst, crunching bones and all, in the field next to his father's house.
I drove past his father's business and house today, looking at all the homes, farms and businesses in this part of north Alabama, wondering about how many of us understand that we're really all the same but have convinced ourselves we're all different.
Insights.
It's a good thing I know how to laugh. There ain't a single problem in this whole world (and most spots in near space) that a little humour can't make easier to solve.
I've grown too old to worry about images and trying to do the right thing. My time on Earth is [potentially] less than it was a moment ago and a lot less than how long I've lived so far. In this time I have left, I'm glad I have friends like Becky and Brent who make me appreciate that first impressions don't last and appearances are almost always deceiving.
Life's a lot happier when you assume nothing.
But there's stories folks don't tell on themselves because they're too busy living their lives to brag.
Take two friends of mine, Brent Spears and Becky Paluzzi.
When I was a kid in secondary school, a young woman - Miss Lill, I think we called her - lived for a short time across the street from us at my secondary school band director's house.
Miss Lill ended up marrying an older and distinguished gentleman by the name of Paluzzi who taught music and told funny stories. He and his new bride settled into a house in another neighbourhood.
As a local lawn boy 30 years ago, I mowed the grassy fields around people's houses, including that of my band director, Mr. Canny. My mowing job wasn't bad but it was good enough that Mr. Canny talked his music buddy, Mr. Paluzzi, into getting me to mow the grass around his house.
So, to me these were just local customers.
But Mr. Paluzzi's wife is no plain customer. Becky (or Rebecca these days) just happens to be the Suzuki method teacher for flute in the United States.
Mr. Paluzzi passed away a long time ago but I still remember the good times sitting with him and his wife after I mowed their lawn. On band trips (especially one to Daytona Beach) he brought a lot of grownup fun to us secondary school kids.
Brent Spears is another local, homegrown product who's done well for himself.
The first time I met Brent we worked for the GE Aerospace division. Brent was this young kid from the "sticks," growing up on Highway 431 outside Owens Cross Roads, Alabama. He believed Elvis was still alive.
We attended a physics class together at UAH (University of Alabama-Huntsville).
After GE closed down its engineering design center for the Navy CASS project, Brent and I went our separate ways. I worked for a sewer flow monitoring company and Brent went on to finish his engineering degree.
Brent is a founder of a local company called Invariant. The last time I saw him, he and his wife were excited about their new baby, a long but not so far away place from his father's roadside business.
I can still remember Brent as a young man telling me about watching his outdoor tom cat devouring a rabbit headfirst, crunching bones and all, in the field next to his father's house.
I drove past his father's business and house today, looking at all the homes, farms and businesses in this part of north Alabama, wondering about how many of us understand that we're really all the same but have convinced ourselves we're all different.
Insights.
It's a good thing I know how to laugh. There ain't a single problem in this whole world (and most spots in near space) that a little humour can't make easier to solve.
I've grown too old to worry about images and trying to do the right thing. My time on Earth is [potentially] less than it was a moment ago and a lot less than how long I've lived so far. In this time I have left, I'm glad I have friends like Becky and Brent who make me appreciate that first impressions don't last and appearances are almost always deceiving.
Life's a lot happier when you assume nothing.
Ol' Vienna
Years ago, I worked with a fellow by the name of Greg Grimes. I'm sure I've told you about him before.
Greg and his wife financed the childhood racing careers of their two sons.
You might have seen the boys in their sprint cars, crashing as much as winning (maybe more so, but who's counting), creating metal "sculptures" tossed into the family pond.
Well, Greg and I worked for a spinoff from Rockwell, originally the division called Rockwell Semiconductor, that turned into Conexant Systems.
At Conexant, Greg and I did our part to make sure customers got the high-speed Internet experience they expected from ADSL equipment, including "modems" and gateways.
He and I worked for the Huntsville Design Center, which included about 30 folks, including engineers from all over the world who continued to travel the world during interoperability tests and whatever else was required to design, test and deploy the equipment.
Like I said, this is a blog about local folks ...
... And so it is.
Greg's a great guy. He's the kind of fellow you want when a tornado or cyclone goes ripping through your neighbourhood. He's the one who'll be first to drop what he's doing to take care of a community.
While we were getting our ADSL design perfected (if such is possible), we needed real-world testing to ensure both the CO (Central Office - think "local telephone exchange location") and business/residential sides of the ADSL engineering prototypes worked both as designed and according to international standards.
Who else but Greg to find the perfect place to perfect our design?
Greg turned to his friends at NEHP (the New Hope Telephone Cooperative) to help us out.
Some of you are too young to remember but high-speed data connections used to be expensive. You think your Internet connection is expensive now? Well, in days gone by, a T1 connection to your home or business would run into the thousands of dollars for setup/installation, monthly service and maintenance.
Greg will have to correct me on this if I'm wrong but I seem to remember he paid for NEHP to run a T1 out to his place.
Thus, NEHP and Greg had a good bit of business history, along with Greg's persuasive personality, to let us test our ADSL equipment. Not to mention the possibility that NEHP could be a potential customer for Conexant.
Like I said, that was years ago. Neither Greg nor I work for Conexant anymore. In fact, I'm pretty sure that Conexant is out of the ADSL business altogether.
But NEHP is still around. Drive down Main Drive in New Hope and you'll see the old and new offices of NEHP.
Stop by. They're friendly folks and if you're friendly enough, they might offer you a tour. Maybe Tom Wing is still there. Maybe he'll remember Greg Grimes if you remember to ask.
But don't tell them I sent you - they won't remember me - I'm as anonymous now as I was then, making connections that people don't even know they're making; making sure our local ways are just as important as our global ones.
Time to head off to my new job and gather up a few more stories about us and our local ways of living. Along the way, I'm gonna stop at a local bakery and pick up a few freshly-prepared scones and doughnuts that'll make those prepackaged/frozen pastries at your local grocer's a little lonely today.
See y'all real soon. If you have a story worth telling or a tall tale not too far-fetched, I'm listening.
Greg and his wife financed the childhood racing careers of their two sons.
You might have seen the boys in their sprint cars, crashing as much as winning (maybe more so, but who's counting), creating metal "sculptures" tossed into the family pond.
Well, Greg and I worked for a spinoff from Rockwell, originally the division called Rockwell Semiconductor, that turned into Conexant Systems.
At Conexant, Greg and I did our part to make sure customers got the high-speed Internet experience they expected from ADSL equipment, including "modems" and gateways.
He and I worked for the Huntsville Design Center, which included about 30 folks, including engineers from all over the world who continued to travel the world during interoperability tests and whatever else was required to design, test and deploy the equipment.
Like I said, this is a blog about local folks ...
... And so it is.
Greg's a great guy. He's the kind of fellow you want when a tornado or cyclone goes ripping through your neighbourhood. He's the one who'll be first to drop what he's doing to take care of a community.
While we were getting our ADSL design perfected (if such is possible), we needed real-world testing to ensure both the CO (Central Office - think "local telephone exchange location") and business/residential sides of the ADSL engineering prototypes worked both as designed and according to international standards.
Who else but Greg to find the perfect place to perfect our design?
Greg turned to his friends at NEHP (the New Hope Telephone Cooperative) to help us out.
Some of you are too young to remember but high-speed data connections used to be expensive. You think your Internet connection is expensive now? Well, in days gone by, a T1 connection to your home or business would run into the thousands of dollars for setup/installation, monthly service and maintenance.
Greg will have to correct me on this if I'm wrong but I seem to remember he paid for NEHP to run a T1 out to his place.
Thus, NEHP and Greg had a good bit of business history, along with Greg's persuasive personality, to let us test our ADSL equipment. Not to mention the possibility that NEHP could be a potential customer for Conexant.
Like I said, that was years ago. Neither Greg nor I work for Conexant anymore. In fact, I'm pretty sure that Conexant is out of the ADSL business altogether.
But NEHP is still around. Drive down Main Drive in New Hope and you'll see the old and new offices of NEHP.
Stop by. They're friendly folks and if you're friendly enough, they might offer you a tour. Maybe Tom Wing is still there. Maybe he'll remember Greg Grimes if you remember to ask.
But don't tell them I sent you - they won't remember me - I'm as anonymous now as I was then, making connections that people don't even know they're making; making sure our local ways are just as important as our global ones.
Time to head off to my new job and gather up a few more stories about us and our local ways of living. Along the way, I'm gonna stop at a local bakery and pick up a few freshly-prepared scones and doughnuts that'll make those prepackaged/frozen pastries at your local grocer's a little lonely today.
See y'all real soon. If you have a story worth telling or a tall tale not too far-fetched, I'm listening.
2010-04-27
The Next Story: Us!
After meeting and talking with people from other parts of the world, I figured out we are all the same flesh and blood.
Instead of spending time worrying about global issues for which I earn not a penny and burn thought cycles unnecessarily, I've decided to put aside my global connections and look at my local friends for whom real life is local (even though all local issues are interconnected and thus ... global!).
If my global friends bring intolerant issues to my attention, I'll address them. In the meantime, let's sit down, prop up our feet, put on the radio and chew on some good old-fashioned stories with real, local flavour ...
You might hear a story about a family who found ancient artifacts under a cliff by a river or old billy goats that'll make you laugh at their gruff, tough rammin' ways.
We may use this fancy electronic gizmo to record our ol' stories but the stories are still worth tellin', I tell ya.
Doesn't matter if your town has one traffic light or a thousand - there're local stories worth rememberin' here, dontcha think?
In our rememberin', we may see solutions to new problems in the way we solved old ones. Perhaps a Sun and an Oracle combinin' into one will remind us of a country store that became a grist mill, funeral home, and town hall in order to meet the people's needs as they rose and fell.
Who knows? Let's find out!
Every story is worth tellin', even the ones that break our hearts a second time ...
Instead of spending time worrying about global issues for which I earn not a penny and burn thought cycles unnecessarily, I've decided to put aside my global connections and look at my local friends for whom real life is local (even though all local issues are interconnected and thus ... global!).
If my global friends bring intolerant issues to my attention, I'll address them. In the meantime, let's sit down, prop up our feet, put on the radio and chew on some good old-fashioned stories with real, local flavour ...
You might hear a story about a family who found ancient artifacts under a cliff by a river or old billy goats that'll make you laugh at their gruff, tough rammin' ways.
We may use this fancy electronic gizmo to record our ol' stories but the stories are still worth tellin', I tell ya.
Doesn't matter if your town has one traffic light or a thousand - there're local stories worth rememberin' here, dontcha think?
In our rememberin', we may see solutions to new problems in the way we solved old ones. Perhaps a Sun and an Oracle combinin' into one will remind us of a country store that became a grist mill, funeral home, and town hall in order to meet the people's needs as they rose and fell.
Who knows? Let's find out!
Every story is worth tellin', even the ones that break our hearts a second time ...
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