Modern Technology, Part 2

It goes without saying that, next to the Stratocaster, the Internet is the single greatest invention in the history of mankind. In the last week alone, I have been able to research & purchase a new camera tripod and track its delivery progress, order a pizza, reconcile my bank accounts, and find out what's on TV...all from my computer screen. An amazing amount of historical material is available to help me learn what I need to know for the Veteran's History Project, and any time I'm feeling lonely, I can find a friend online.

Which brings me to Facebook. A friend told me that there are probably more people logged onto Facebook right this instant than there were human beings on the planet when Nixon resigned. Whether that's true or not, it certainly seems that everybody and their dog has an account. And since my entire personality is centered around trendiness, hipness, and fashionability, I figured I'd better get an account.

The most immediate appeal for me was the prospect of reconnecting with old chums. I could find high school buddies, Wichita Swim Club teammates, and even all the girls I had crushes on but never spoke to. Perhaps we could reminisce about old times, laugh about how fat the good-looking/popular kids have gotten...and all without having to spend any time at all in Wichita.

What I discovered, though, was that such reminiscences really don't take much time. In about one day after logging on for the first time, I found that I had run out of interesting things to say and had completely satiated my curiosity about the entire spectrum of historical chumdom.

I guess my severe introversion applies to online relationships in much the same way it does in the real world. It seems I have an endless supply of curiosity about Mythbusters topics, Star Trek remakes, and creative ways to combine rice, beans, and tortillas -- but very little interest at all about the weather in Dubuque, the latest sale at Costington's, or whose dog just pooed on the carpet. My impression is that most Facebook traffic is of the extravert variety, intended for folks that thrive on social contact. While I turly do cherish my friends and always enjoy our one-on-one conversations, I feel no need to get updates about each conversation they have with their other pals.

Plus, it's not like I have a lot of spare time to devote to online voyeurism. For those who do, I say more power to ya'...but I'm probably not going to log into the darn thing very often.

I know...such ambivalence toward Facebook seems odd for someone who really enjoys blogging (which after all, is nothing more than an extended description of weather, shopping, and carpet poo events). But I think I know what's different: A blog is more like a book -- a person can choose to open it and read it if they want. Facebook is more like a phone call or a Jehovah's Witness -- notes show up whether you asked for them or not. And while they don't interrupt your dinner or anything, they still seem to have a certain arrogance and pushiness that can make us introverts uncomfortable.

So, to all of my friends on Facebook, let me just say that it's not you, it's the medium. If you email me directly, we'll have a dandy conversation, I promise you. But since I have accepted the fact that I'm somewhat of a social-network-o-phobe, I would ask your acceptance of that fact as well. I'll check in every now and then, but in the meantime, enjoy the weather (where ever you are), thanks for reading my blog, and have a great day!

Modern Technology

People I've never heard of keep signing up to follow me on Twitter.

This would be flattering, except for the following: 1) I have never ever posted a "tweet" and have no plans to ever do so, and 2)I can't believe that the individual moments of my life as an corporate drone and waterlogged chlorine-o-phile would be of interest to anyone.

[Question: How does your last statement correlate with the fact that you obviously think someone is reading this blog?
Answer: Shut up.]

Oh, I suppose I could write tweets with a creative twist -- say, as if I were a big game hunter on safari (4am: Just shot an elephant in my pajamas. How he got in my pajamas, I'll never know.) or a jazz trumpet player (10:00am GMT: Had tea with Queen, charted North Pole, settled Spanish revolution. Relationship inertia continues.) or even Al Davis (5:00pm: Received results from latest medical exam and am hoping for good news. 5:05pm: No luck. I'm still a douchebag.)

But even if I were inclined to share my instantaneous thoughts with the world at large, I don't think I'd have time to do it.

[Question: So why on earth did you sign up for a Twitter account in the first place?
Answer: Because yo' mama told me to. Now shut up!]

Actually, I did consider the idea at one time. My favorite writer (James Lileks) does it, and it seems to work for him. But once I set up the account, I realized that I'd need a mobile device that would make it easy to instantly record and post any post-worthy thoughts I might have...and I just don't want to buy and carry one of those geegaws. Plus, it would require entirely too much brainpower to complete the required algorithm:

1. Develop a worthwhile thought.
2. Whip out the Twitter-capable device and type the required keystrokes...without forgetting what the worthwhile thought was in the first place.
3. Upload the Tweet.
4. Pocket the device and remember what the heck you were doing when the aforementioned thought made its appearance.

I'm pretty sure I don't have the cranial computing power required to accomplish all that. Nor the monthly budget to pay for the groovey iPhone subscription or whatever it would take. So...I have a Twitter account with a bunch of followers, but nothing for them to follow.

So, let's talk about Facebook. I'm sure you're just dying to know my innermost thoughts about that fascinating topic. Unfortunately, I'm out of time for now, so we'll begin that discussion in my new entry. Until then, happy tweeting...and have a great day!

A New Definition

You don't really expect to encounter deep philosophical thoughts at the office on a regular workday, do you? Most conversations are about sports, demented managers, and the standard commiseration about "Why am I working here when I should be on my way to Hollywood to become the next Ben Affleck?" But every now and then, you hear something that helps you interpret the events in your life with a more cosmic perspective.

(Sorry to digress, but thinking of Ben Affleck always makes me think of this.)

I was cameraman for an "All Hands" meeting the other day. For those of you who are not shackled to the corporate whipping post, an All Hands meeting is where a Department's Big Cheese Boss stands up to talk about the state of the organization, and everyone in the group is expected to attend. Not a problem when the group is local...but when subordinate cheeses are spread out all over the country, it's tough to get them all to attend in person. That's where the modern miracle of webcasting comes in: We videotape the speeches and broadcast them out over the Internet, so the individual worker bees can log on and have the meeting playing in the background while they finish playing Solitaire or updating their Facebook page, or whatever it is they get paid for.

Anyway, as cameraman, my responsibility consists of pointing the lens in the general direction of the speaker, and taking instructions from my technical director through the headset. Most of the instructions I receive are things like "After the meeting's over, remind me to get the phone number of that hot chick in the third row" or "Next break, see if you can snag me a Dr. Pepper from the snack area, OK?" But occasionally, he'll say something like "Zoom in a little bit" or "Tilt down so the glare off the dude's head isn't quite so distracting." So the job is not all that challenging, and most of these meetings are not exactly packed with fast-moving action.

So, since my primary duties occupy a minimal number of brain cells, I can perform the required functions while using most of my awareness for other activities. Usually, I think about what else I have to do during the day, like planning what to say to the clerk at the Post Office when I go in to complain that I followed the instructions precisely on the automated postal machine, but my envelope still came back with postage due, etc.

[Seriously, what's up with that? Whenever Amazon needs additional copies of my book, I stick them in a standard manila mailing envelope, slap on the required $2.38 postage, and drop them in the box. There's never been a problem in the past. But this time, I couldn't remember the exact postage amount, so I used the machine. One of the choices was "Large Envelope or Parcel?" Well, the envelope wasn't that large -- it only held one book -- but I define a "parcel" as something that's either cardboard (ie, a "box") or wrapped in that brown paper with a string tied around it...so I went with "Large Envelope". Turns out, though, that the geniuses at the USPS consider it to be a parcel if it is (as the clerk I finally spoke to explained) "not too bendy". Seriously. Despite the fact that your packing medium came out of a box that was clearly labeled "Envelopes", if you put something inside it that isn't completely flat and foldable, it transforms into a "Parcel". Please make a note of it.]

Besides contemplation of my day's duties, I am also able to actually listen to what the speakers have to say. I tune out most of the dronage, since it's usually about how many days they've gone without an accident, or about how many pages of CDRLs they've submitted to the customer. Sometimes, though, they talk about the actual rockets or data received from Mars or something, and then it gets interesting.

I also pay attention if they mention food. And the guy with the shiny head mentioned that he knew this was an important meeting when he walked in the room and saw the Big Cookies. He explained that in all his years with the company, the food was always an indicator of meeting magnitude. If they had a basket of fruit, it was probably a complete waste of time. If they had pastries with those disgusting pseudo-jelly blobs in the center, it was going to be boring (even if they also had juice). But if you saw a plate of the Big Cookies -- you know, the ones that are so rich they bend like a Dali watch when you pick them up -- well, then you're attending something important.

He noted that this meeting was a Big Cookie Event. I like that, and I think I'll start to use that term in my own life. My Dad's 90th birthday is coming up: That's a Big Cookie Event. My friend Russ is getting married: Ditto. I'll be sure to let you know how those activities turn out.

Of course, I'll probably also be describing a few Fruit Basket events along the way, but please stay tuned, anyway. In the meantime, I urge you to seek out all the bendy and delicious big cookies you can find in your own life. And have a great day!

Burrito King

Every now and then, you've got to stretch yourself and try something new.

Oh, you don't have to be a wild and crazy risk taker like I am -- after all I live outside the box -- and have been compared to Keanu Reeves for my relentless pursuit of excellent adventures.

My brother just had knee surgery, so we've cancelled our evening track practices for a while. But we still enjoy getting together to catch up on the madcap events of daily life, and to converse about that utopian day when we can finally rid ourselves and our doctors of tedious medical decisions, and get them into the hands of politicians where they belong. And as statistics have proven over and over, sibling conversations are most productive and intellectually stimulating when carried out over a tray of tacos and a diet Coke. Ergo, our post-track refueling and philosophizing sessions are typically done at the local Taco Bell.

But as I said, guys like us have been known to go nuts on occasion. (Well, not "Allah Akbar" nuts, but still well outside the boundaries of conventional behaviors.) We decided to eschew the Bell and try the cuisine at the Burrito King next door.

I know you won't believe this, but I didn't even do any research before deciding to take this risk. Most people would do a Google search, look at restaurant ratings, and maybe even ask their lawyer for advice before branching out to try a new and untested taco joint, but not us. We walked right in the door of the Burrito King and made our decisions with no information other than what was printed on the menu.

The first difference noted was that the fellow at the counter was friendly and customer-service oriented. He greeted us cheerfully, and showed great enthusiasm for the honor of serving us. I really like that. (My son would argue that the food is the same whether the clerk smiles at you or not, so it's silly to care how sullen and emo the server is, but I disagree.)

I ordered the "Big Plate", which had one of everything, plus rice and beans. Pat had a slightly fancier dish -- some sort of signature burrito. The food arrived quickly, and was presented with a flourish. "Doesn't that look good?" the dude asked, and I had to admit that it did encourage salivation. We tore into our meals with gusto.

Mine wasn't bad. It wasn't quite up to Taco Bell quality, but it wasn't bad. I quickly noticed, though, that Pat wasn't having quite the same luck I was. He was eating slowly and drinking a LOT of soda. His forehead was beaded with sweat. His eyes were a bit glazed. Some sort of post-surgery medical condition, I wondered?

"Man, this is hot!" he said. He dabbed his napkin across his damp face. "Really hot."

Now, I happen to know that my brother can handle spicy food. He likes it on the fiery side. So when he has to pause between bites to pant and gasp, you know that the Scoville count is pretty darned high.

To make a long story short, after 20 minutes and multiple drink refills, he finally gave up. "I'm full," he said, though we both knew that he had room left to finish the plate. But his tongue was fried; he could barely talk. His clothing was soaked in sweat, and he mentioned that he thought he saw the Virgin Mary outside in the drive-thru. It was definitely time to quit.

The final verdict? Well, if you like to boil your hemoglobin, and you appreciate friendly treatment from your quick-service restaurant, you might want to give Burrito King a try. But we've decided that our next meeting will be back at the Bell. It's much cheaper, and so far we haven't had any meltdowns associated with their tacos...even the "Volcano" variety. But don't think we'll always be content with the status quo or will stop trying to taste the wild life -- one of these days you might even see us at Arby's.

Have a great day!

Excellent Weekend

I love the Colorado weekends where gorgeous weather follows a snowstorm. The sky seems to have been storing up blueness over the last few days, and has decided to soak us with it all at once. You can feel the sun tugging at your arm to drag you outside, and you can almost hear it shouting "I'm back! Let's play!"

This was one of those weekends. A couple of days after scraping ice off windshields and slogging through sodden, leaf-filled snowdrifts, it was once again time to put on shorts and t-shirts and take Tanner over to the tennis court for yet another whuppin' from his old man.

Conditions weren't exactly Wimbledon-esque, though. There was a pretty good snow drift on the south side of the court, and as the game went on, the melting process ensured a steady stream of water flowing across the courts. Being the admirers of engineering that we are, the boy and I spent a moment discussing what a fine job the court builders had done in creating just enough of a dip in the surface so that the water would drain, but not enough so that the players would think it was anything other than flat. It was really pretty impressive. Most of the time, admiring thoughts of design and craftsmanship tend to focus on electronics, machinery -- iPods and rockets and such. But every now and then, it's nice to remember that there are some pretty smart people working in the field of drainage management, too.

Anyway, the game took on a different complexion for two main reasons. 1) Tanner was nailing his serves. At the beginning of the set, his first-serve smashes were stand-there-and-watch-it-go-by winners, and his confidence grew. But as I got used to them, I started making the returns, and they became less of a factor. Still, the fact that he was getting those shots in meant that I had to stay on my toes for every single serve. 2) The balls got wet. As gorgeous as the weather was, there was still plenty of snow and water around, and eventually, all the balls got soaked. Sometimes we'd try to bounce them dry before serving, but other times it was fun to whack 'em and watch the droplets fly off them as they zinged across the net.

I think I actually got a little sunburned. And as usual, we ended up having to go to a tie-breaker to determine the match victor. So even if I did nothing else the entire weekend, this one was getting a gold star for being excellent.

But the rest of the weekend was fabulous, too. The only little glitch came during my housecleaning, when the brushes on the vacuum cleaner stopped spinning. No problem, thinks I, I'll just replace the belt and resume my domesticity with only a minor interruption.

But as has been well documented within these pages, fixing stuff, for me, is nearly synonymous with "emergency room visit" and/or "just buy a new one". But c'mon, these machines are designed to make belt replacement a snap, right? Right?

Sure looks that way. The bottom plate of the vacuum appeared to be attached with three of those giant half-turn lock screws that you can open with a coin...which is always a good sign. If the manufacturer assumes you have no tools, then how hard can it possibly be?

Apparently too hard for me. I used a dime and turned the screws, but the plate wouldn't release. I carried the thing into the other room where the light was better, to see if there was another fastener of some sort that I might just be missing. Sure couldn't see one. So I went to my computer and read the owners manual. (Yes, I keep PDF copies of owners manuals for just about everything. I know I'm a nerd; what's your point?) Surprisingly, it was legible and not-too-badly written. "Using a coin, turn these three screws," it said. OK. Now what?

Well, it must just be stuck. That means that it's time for WD-40, Vise Grips, and Brute Force. And seeing that all the components in this part of the machine were made of plastic, I knew there was great potential for breakage, blood, and derisive laughter from paramedics. Sigh. Still, I decided to keep trying.

After what seemed like hours of yanking, bending, and name-calling, the plate finally snapped loose. As far as I could tell, the problem was that one of the coin-operated screws was just a little crooked, and was getting hung up. But nothing broke, and guess what? The belt was intact; it had just slipped off the capstan. Cool, I could have this fixed and be back to vacuuming within seconds.

Or I guess I should say "I could have the belt installed incorrectly and the case closed and locked back up within seconds." Before my repair, the machine's brushes would not rotate. Now they wouldn't STOP.

Sigh.

Further investigation revealed that there was a derailleur device inside the housing through which the belt needed to be threaded. This of course, is not easy -- another brute strength operation with potential for disaster, but I managed to struggle through it. I even tested the brush on-off lever before reassembly this time, and it appeared to work just fine. Popped the plate back on, adjusted the little rubber bumper strip, and declared victory.

Um, another premature declaration. The stupid thing still doesn't work. (Oh, don't get Freudian on me...I know where the stupidity actually lies here. But if I want to blame my troubles on an inanimate object, well, that's what I'm gonna do, and you need to just stay out of it, OK? Thanks.) I had run out of time, though, and would have to defer the project. I know the drill now, though, so tomorrow's repeat repair ought to only take minutes. Right?

Well, sure. Absolutely. I'm fully confident on this one. Completely and 100% certain of my impending succes. (It's only 3 screws, after all.) But it still might help if you wish me luck, and beseech the tool fairies to smile upon me during my next attempt. In the meantime, I shall wish you a lifetime of clean carpets without the need for belt replacements or brute force solutions. Enjoy the gorgeous weather, and have a great day!

Veteran's History Project

I've been given the opportunity to participate in the Veteran's History Project. It's a huge and sweeping effort by the Library of Congress to collect information about those who have served in the American military, and will ultimately be an invaluable resource for future generations. It's very cool, and is online at www.loc.gov/vets.

I'll be working with a group of folks who are recording video of veterans telling their own personal stories about their experiences in the service. My job will be to point a camera at these folks and prompt them to share their thoughts about their time as soldiers.

I am very excited about this, for several reasons. For one, it lets me shoot video that may end up being used in some PBS documentary some day, which may give me a completely anonymous 15 minutes of fame. (But I can point at the screen and say "Hey, I shot that!") But the far more important thing is that in some small way, I'll be helping the Nation remember and honor the people who guard our freedom, and who were willing to risk everything they had to defend the principles of liberty and justice that America stands for.

There are countless stories to be told, I'm sure. The main focus right now is on WWII Vets, as their numbers (and frankly, storytelling ability) decline, but eventually the project will encompass recent Veterans as well. There will be stories of chaos and heroism, adrenaline-fueled combat, and escapes from behind enemy lines. But there will also be stories of battles with egregious government paperwork, fights against unending utter boredom, and surely a few tales of lifelong bonds of friendship forged among these comrades in arms.

I will try to talk my brother into participating. When we were kids, he was mostly an annoyance -- eating cookies that should have been mine, attempting to hang out with me and my friends when we were obviously much too mature for him, and most aggravating of all, being better than me at sports and music. But I cannot adequately describe the pride I felt when he became an officer in the Marine Corps. We don't talk about it much, and I never tell him how much I appreciate his service, but that pride is always there, and always will be.

With his high IQ and good grades in college, he ended up involved in Intelligence. I'm not sure exactly what he did (and I'm not sure he could talk about it anyway), but I do know that he got to travel the world. He visited Iceland, Japan, Hawaii...and spent a lot of time on a ship somewhere out in the middle of the ocean. He flew on helicopters, learned a lot about military history and survival skills, and commanded a group of fine young men. He got bigger and stronger, became an even faster runner, and somehow picked up impressive public speaking skills. Surely some of those experiences would be of interest to the general public, don't you think?

But whether or not my brother ends up with an interview in the Library of Congress, I am really looking forward to meeting these other Veterans and recording their stories. I'll be sure to let you know how it goes.

In the meantime, remember that Veteran's Day is approaching -- November 11th. It's a good time to remind ourselves to be sure to thank those who serve now and who have served in the past, and to let them know we appreciate what they've done on our behalf. Let's do what we can to see that our best and bravest will have a great day on the 11th, and on every other day. Thanks!