The Grid

The power went out last night around 6:30pm, while I was washing down my microwaved burrito with an ice-cold Dr. Pepper.

Fortunately for me, 6:30 is close enough to my normal bedtime that I was perfectly content to just call it a day. Sure, there were unanswered emails, and probably a TV rerun worth watching...but I'm tough enough to ignore those urgencies and carry on with my business.

But lying in bed while the sun is still slicing through the slats in the blinds, I couldn't help but think that Harry Belafonte should've recorded an album of "End of the World" songs...and called it "Apocalypso." Tally those bananas, Lord Humongous.

Actually, I am reasonably prepared for power outages. I have hand-cranked flashlights, candles, and my Official Boy Scout pocketknife, and I can find them all in the dark. (My condo isn't that large; I pretty much know where everything is.) I suppose I could even continue handling email and viewing commercial entertainment programming since I now have a smartphone. But if the power was off for more than a day, I would definitely be inconvenienced.

As of today, I am still working at ITN...which has an ongoing program to develop large-scale storage batteries for the power grid. Everyone is delighted to see fields full of solar panels or the awesome majesty of a million windmills beautifying the stark Kansas plains -- but most folks don't think about the fact that once the immediate needs of the grid are met, any excess electricity generated simply goes to waste. In other words, when the wind blows at night while nobody is watching TV or cooking burritos...there's no reason to run the windmills.

It would be far more efficient if we could capture every bit of energy Nature had to offer, and then affordably store it until it was needed. Thanks to companies like ITN, that scenario is not that far off.

On the other hand, it might be kinda fun to get a red Mohawk and spend each day terrorizing the denizens of the desert on a motorcycle.

Civilization backed by a reliable power grid, or complete chaos accessorized by leather outfits and banshee screams...I could go either way.

OK, so I'll give extra bonus points to anyone who figures out the relationship that this electricity discussion has with today's quiz. If you regularly participate in our little trivia contests, you probably have a pretty good idea how my mind works--so it may not be difficult at all.

Today's challenge is to match up the appropriate Spiderman character with the corresponding representative from the Star Trek universe.

Spiderman	Star Trek
Dr. Curt Connors Norman Osborne Quentin Beck Flint Marko Peter Parker	Tholian Gorn Trelane Horta Marta

Good luck, and have a great day!

Save the Whales

I spent part of the Memorial Day weekend watching MeTV (the oldies channel.) Obviously, shows like Star Trek and Svengoolie are the primary attraction, but I also find that I would rather watch Adam 12 than most of the current batch of police dramas. I mean, I like Vince D'Onofrio just fine...but I find that it's more pleasant to listen to a Jack Webb soliloquy about obeying the rules than it is to spend an hour exploring the scary dark caverns of the Criminal Mind.

And other than the fact that all the pot-smoking delinquents wear neckties and pressed slacks, Adam 12 and its classmates hold up pretty well even today. The only thing that might be a bit jarring for today's audiences is that Reed and Molloy often use the victim's rotary-dial telephone to check in with the Precinct.

Anyway, the thing that struck me was the demographic assumptions you can deduce from the advertising. There are no Red Bull or Michelob commercials on this channel. Instead, it appears that I belong to a group of people who desperately need knee braces, motorized wheelchairs, burial insurance, and personal injury lawyers.

And apparently, we are also highly susceptible to manipulative anthropomorphism. A lot of people must respond to those "sad puppy" ASPCA ads, or they wouldn't be running them every few minutes. If I'm understanding them correctly, they're saying that if everyone in the country would just commit to donating $18 every month, the ASPCA would promise to stop beating all those cuddly animals right before videotaping them.

Hey, what kind of a monster wouldn't respond to that sort of appeal?

I dunno, maybe I'm too analytical. When they say "In the next minute, another animal will be neglected," I can't help but think "Dudes, I am totally neglecting the birds in the tree outside my bedroom window, yet they somehow manage to have the strength to chirp the Hallelujah Chorus at tornado-siren volume every single morning at 3:40am." They do just fine without having access to my checkbook.

I believe there is a hierarchy of human obligation to the animal kingdom. While I think it is indeed a noble and fulfilling thing to pet a fuzzy ferret or cuddle with a kitty...the fact remains that your basic beef cow is at its best when sizzling over charcoal. And while I'm not likely to support a crusade to exterminate crocs, cobras, or grizzly adams, I probably won't respond with biblical kindness should I find them holding a convention in my backyard. Heck, they had the same opportunity as humans did to invent gunpowder, yet they chose to remain on all fours and eschew technology. That's why they're called "dumb animals," I guess.

Of course, I'm the one who spent my weekend watching 50-year-old reruns, so I suppose there are other arguments that could be made.

Hmm.

Anyway, I didn't mean to get off on a tangent. I just find the topic of advertising demographics to be interesting. And if you allow yourself a little bit of intellectual gymkata, you might be able to shoehorn the subject into today's actual topic. You see, a review of my rather eclectic employment history would lead you to conclude that I might not fit very neatly in any particular target audience category.

Here's a summary of the paying jobs I've held, and a short note in parenthesis about how I got the gig.

• Lawn care technician, aka "mower pusher and weed puller" (Parents, neighbors)
• Magician (Friends, family)
  
• Paper boy (Boy Scout buddy)
• Swim Instructor (Wichita Swim Club)
  
• Lifeguard at Son of a Beach (School friend)
• Vacuum cleaner salesman (Ad in the paper)

• Pre-OSHA Assembly-line drone--Canning Coleman fuel (Swimming friend)
• Day laborer (Unsolicited application)
• Publications Aid--Beechcraft (Unsolicited resume application)
• Procedures Writer--Boeing (My former Scoutmaster)
• Retail camera salesman--Ardan (Unsolicited application)
• Fast food cashier/cook--McDonalds (Unsolicited application)

• Country-Western disc jockey--KICT FM (Insurance salesman)
• Procedures Engineer--Martin Marietta (Head hunter referral)
• Sports club desk clerk/lifeguard/swim coach--YMCA (Unsolicited application)
• Recreation District Swim Coach/lifeguard--Foothills (Recruited by Aquatics Director)
• Freelance typist/Computer consultant (Word of mouth referrals)
• Adult education instructor/Public speaker (Unsolicited application)
• Bestselling book author (Multiple swimming friends)
• Communications Manager--ITN (Swimming buddy)
  
• College and Special Programs instructor--Front Range Community College (Teaching buddy)
• Contract Writer/Editor (Swimming buddy)
• Proposal writer/editor--Lockheed (Swimming buddy)
• Communications Manager--ITN (Former coworker)

Hey, did you ever notice that Conway Twitty looks a lot like Meat Loaf? I'll have to talk to my conspiracy theorist friends about that.

Anyway, this was an interesting exercise. I'm pretty sure I've forgotten something I've done for money somewhere along the way. My memory isn't what it used to be.

I'm sure you were expecting to see "Tom Selleck Impersonator" and "Voice of Reason to Counteract Commie Pinko Propaganda" in the list, but unfortunately I've never earned a cent from those worthwhile activities. I've never made money from my ethereal singing voice or gnarly guitar shredding, either. Sigh.

The surprise for me was to see how many jobs I've obtained through a normal application process. I had it in my head that I had found nearly every job I'd had via heavy-duty networking...but in reality, this wasn't true. Sure, my highest paying and most rewarding jobs were the result of having contacts in the right places, but I got plenty of low-paying and menial jobs from the standard application process.

What does this say about me, my life, or my prospects of finding a new job quickly now that I'm about to be downsized? I have no idea. But if you know of anyone looking to hire a guy like me, please let me know. Otherwise, thanks for stopping by, and have a great day!

Density, continued...

As I mentioned yesterday, I have always been jealous of people who achieve career-path certainty at an early age.

Clark Kent knew that he needed to leave the farm to become a crusading reporter for a great metropolitan newspaper -- so that he could wear his fedora at a jaunty angle. Oliver Wendell Douglas knew that he needed to leave the city and find fertile land in which he could plant seeds that could shoost up to the sky.

Those fellows were born with dreams, and were compelled to follow them. My best friend Mickey knew that he wanted to be an oilman from the moment he became aware of J.D. Clampet...and then pursued the dream until he ended up with his own petroleum company. Dave Thomas was drawn to the restaurant business, and was learning all he could about it before he reached his teens. (Fun fact: Before he started Wendy's, Dave Thomas was a key player in the success of KFC. If it weren't for him, it's unlikely that anyone would know who Colonel Sanders was.) Identifying your career goal early in life seems to be a key factor in achieving high levels of success.

On the other hand, those of us who grow up without that focus may possess talent and may acquire a high level of skill, but typically end up with a more modest set of accomplishments. As I mentioned yesterday, the wide range of my career aspirations (chopper pilot, matinee idol, professional athlete, Blue Oyster Cult roadie, etc.) made it difficult for me to target one particular set of professional goals.

While Mickey dreamed of becoming Jed, I found that I related more to Jethro. His career range included such diversity as Fry Cook, Brain Surgeon, Double-Naught Spy, Bodine-o-phonist, and Sophistycated International Playboy.

Tomorrow, I will share a list of all the jobs I've had, and how I stumbled across them. The reason I'm thinking about this topic is that my current employer is downsizing, and my hours are going to be cut back (or perhaps eliminated.) Therefore, I need to procure other sources of income, as well as appropriate insurance coverage. This means updating my resume, touching base with networking contacts, and giving some thought to what employment opportunities would represent a good match for my current skill set. Any ideas you might have would be welcome. (NOTE: I'm probably not actually qualified to be a brain surgeon or a double-naught spy. Underwear model? Sure. National Security Advisor? No problem. The next Dash Riprock? Well, obviously that would work.)

Anyway, while I'm waiting to find out whether I need to get a cardboard sign and a tin cup, I shall continue to ponder the Great Questions of the Universe...such as whether or not Clark Kent's glasses had lenses, and whether it's better to disguise yourself in secret identity mode (a la Superman) or disguising your hero self (like Batman.) In either case, the key ingredient is to have an absolutely impenetrable disguise, which both fellows obviously did. (Hmm, I wonder what would happen if Millionaire Bruce Wayne were to don his own set of image-altering spectacles?)

More tomorrow. Until then, have a great day!

Aptitudes

When did you discover your density?

Have you always known what you wanted? Have you always understood what your unique skills, talents, and abilities were?

If so, you're lucky. If you were the kid who told your kindergarten classmates that you wanted to be a fireman...and then grew up to be a fireman, then I suspect you belong to a fairly exclusive club. Not many of us figure out what we are meant to do until much later in life. Sometimes not even then.

My first memories of career aspirations were inspired by (what else?) television. The show "Whirlybirds" made me want to be a helicopter pilot. That probably didn't last long.

Major Astro (see the previous post) made me want to be an astronaut. Watching Captain Kirk in action made me want to be an interstellar babe magnet. Seeing the Doors perform on Ed Sullivan made me want to be a stinking worthless long-haired hippie.

I actually sorta tried the hippie thing for a short while. I was moderately comfortable with flashing peace signs and saying "groovy" a lot...but since I refused to take drugs and couldn't quite grasp the economics of worthlessness, it wasn't a good fit. And besides, having long hair really bugged me -- it was a total pain in the neck for a competitive swimmer.

What puzzles me now is that I didn't really understand that the craft of writing might be something to pursue. I always got good grades in English class, but never interpreted that to be an indication that I had an affinity for language. In fact, in most cases I didn't like my English teachers at all. I had some great math and science teachers (Mr. Saft, Mr. Ruth, Mr. Cooper, etc.), but with the exception of the semester we made movies in Mr. Nixon's class, I never once found myself looking forward to English.

Making movies was fun, though.

I thought of becoming an actor, but two factors put the kibosh on that. One was that (despite my formidable kung fu skills) I couldn't act worth a hoot (see "The Tiger and the Dragon".)

The other was that I got really creeped out by being around Thespians.

Now, before you send me hate mail and accuse me of being homophobic, I want to assure you that my problems with Theater People had nothing to do with light loafers or exaggerated fashion sense. It was just the fact that the serious actors (gay and straight both) took their craft so darn seriously. "Drama is important! It's not merely entertainment, it's a way to teach Life Lessons."

Sorry, but I just couldn't seem to get aboard that train.

I won't try to argue that a good drama cannot inspire personal growth, or that Deep Meaning can't be derived from a story expertly delivered on the stage or screen. Heck, I learned all sorts of stuff about time paradoxes from "Back to the Future" -- but that doesn't mean that every word uttered in front of an audience has some sort of cosmic significance, and that each actor is some sort of divine messenger.

Their attitude struck me as pompous. Rather than embracing the subtleties and challenges of Shakespeare, my intellectual depth is more likely to revolve around banana peels and whoopee cushions.

But I seem to have veered off the subject. I think I was trying to make some sort of point about how an early recognition of my natural talents should have directed me into a literary career, rather than the rather eclectic and indistinct path I have taken instead. But since I'm obviously incapable of getting to that point, it appears that my argument disintegrates before it is fully formed. Sigh.

Perhaps I'll explore the topic in further detail someday when I'm not so easily distracted. In the meantime, I'm going to go watch entirely too many YouTube cat videos. Have a great day!

Three Days to Pluto

When browsing Netflix movie listings, I ran across a movie I saw once when I was probably 10 years old. It stuck with me.

More about that in a minute. But the discovery got me thinking about how so many of our encounters are quickly forgotten, while others remain with us for life.

For example, I watched "My Mother the Car" as a kid, but can't tell you anything about it today. But Major Astro (pictured here) exerted a huge influence. He is responsible for kickstarting my lifelong love of outer space and high-tech stuff. Of course, it was Captain Kirk who eventually rooted himself at the center of my philosophical universe...but t'was the Major who prepared me to find so much delight in discovering the crew of the Enterprise and developing relationships with them.

The Major Astro TV show came on at 3:30 every afternoon, and consisted of a batch of (generally) crappy cartoons strung together with science(ish) filler dialog about space travel and the planets. In retrospect, it was brilliant solution to a tough daytime programming problem for the station: it grabbed virtually every Wichita schoolkid (with associated access to their Mom and her breakfast cereal purchasing power) and cost nothing more than the actor's salary, a small set piece, and a silver jumpsuit.

The actor was a fellow named Tom Leahy, who I have mentioned before. He had some talent--he played the sheriff in "King Kung Fu"--but even as kids we thought he was pretty cheesy. Though we watched his show religiously and attended any event where he might make a personal appearance, we still called him names, like "Major Spazmo", and worse.

Once in a while, he would blast off for other planets, and would spend a day or two broadcasting cartoons back to Kansas from within his space capsule. He never discussed why there was apparently earth-normal gravity wherever he went, nor how he was able to make a round-trip to Pluto in less time than it took Apollo to get to the moon. (And yes, I did think about things like that when I was watching the show.) But even though I was quite certain that his spacesuit and motorcycle helmet were not airtight, and that he wouldn't have a chance of passing a NASA physical, I cut him all the slack he needed, because he was our primary source for TV science info and animated entertainment.

Roger Ramjet was my favorite. His voice was done by Gary Owens, who had later fame as the emcee for Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In, which featured Pat Paulsen, who was the first person to get me interested in politics. (I'd vote for him in the next Presidential election, even though he's been dead for almost 20 years.)

Anyway, I should probably write a few cartoon review blogs at some point, because I suspect that they had a larger influence on me than they did on normal kids. It would be fun to speculate about how "Clutch Cargo" influenced the nightmares of Stephen King, or how Underdog's propensity for rhyme led to my own excursions into poetry.

But I digress. All I really intended to talk about in this post was my re-discovery of the story of "Zotz!"

I only remembered two things about the movie "Zotz!", but those memories have always been quite strong. One was that it starred Tom Poston, who had a pretty good career playing genial (and slightly addled) character parts. You probably remember him from "Mork and Mindy", or either of the Bob Newhart shows. Funny guy.

The other thing I remember is that his character discovered an artifact that gave him various powers, which he then used to get himself out of trouble. I don't remember the details with any precision, but uttering the word "Zotz" would create one effect, pointing his finger would create another, and combining the two would be lethal for whoever was in line with the pointed finger. I seem to remember drama and tension as the main elements...but I suspect that with Poston in the lead, it may have been intended as comedy.

Netflix listed the film, but did not offer it for streaming. I don't have a DVD subscription anymore, so instead, I picked up a copy of the novel. I'm only a couple of chapters in at this point, but it's pretty entertaining.

And as you might expect, the movie is available (in parts) on YouTube. I will read the book first, and then watch the movie. After that, I shall return to these pages and report on whether my childhood memories were accurate.

So my question for you today is whether you have any such memories. Is there a movie you sometimes think about and say to yourself, "I vividly remember something about that, and would like to see it again?" And if you have done that, did the re-viewing reinforce your original memories, or contradict them entirely?

Give it some thought and let me know. Can you identify why that particular item stuck with you? I'd be interested. In the meantime, keep making new memories, and have a great day!

Reversals

When I was a Patrol Leader in Troop 703, our first aid kit contained a little vacuum syringe designed to suck venom out of a snake bite wound. We were told to use our Official Boy Scout Pocketknives to cut little "X" marks on each puncture so that the poisoned blood could be easily siphoned.

That's not the way it's done today.

Yesterday, I attended a CPR/First Aid certification class provided by my employers at Foothills Park and Rec. It was an excellent class that covered a broad range of responses for possible emergencies we might encounter at some point. And apparently, rattlesnake bites are not unheard of within the district -- though they are much more likely to be a problem for golfers than they are for Masters Swimmers.

In any case, the recommended treatment is to keep the bite wound lower than the heart and call 911. That's it. No leeches, no bloodletting, no chanting to wooden Tiki idols to plead for removal of the Greg Brady curse. Just stay calm and relaxed, and think about how you'll retell the incident in terms that make you sound like the heroic reincarnation of the Crocodile Hunter, instead of a careless lout who didn't watch where he was stepping.

Oh, and by the way, you don't put butter on burns, tie a tourniquet about an amputation, or chug Syrup of Ipecac if you ingest iocane with first building up an immunity. And the CPR ratio of compressions to ventilations is now 30:2 instead of the 5:2 standard I was taught back in the day. (The Heimlich maneuver is still good, though.)

And things have changed in swimming, too. We used to be taught that the object of a racing start was to fly as far as you can and land on the water as flat as possible. Now we know that it's faster to cut into the water earlier, go a bit deeper, and avoid the drag of the water's surface tension. And if that's not enough, the latest research seems to show that a straight-arm pull is more effective than the "S-Stroke" I was taught, and that long-axis rotation shouldn't be as extreme as we had been told for the last several decades.

I doubt that we'll ever go back to the bellybuster start technique. But it wouldn't surprise me to see some other research suggest a double-S pull, or even a corkscrew roll. Who knows? But isn't that part of what makes life so interesting? New data results in new standards. We learn, we adapt, and we become more effective. That's pretty cool.

But I do wonder how many erroneous techniques are still being passed along by people who haven't had updated training? Do parents still tell their kids to wait an hour after eating before swimming? (I knew that one was ridiculous even when I was a kid.) Are there still people out there who buy U2 albums, or who think Lee Harvey Oswald faked the moon landings?

I think we should all keep an open mind, and be prepared to shift our viewpoints when the evidence supports a new paradigm. In the meantime, be careful when walking, and always listen carefully to everything your swim coach tells you. Have a great day!

Elasticity

I think I might have a acquired me a touch of the ol' plantar fasciitis.

Last fall, I was really optimistic about my 2014 running schedule. I had reached 30 miles per week, was feeling great, and was pleased with the results of the physical therapy treatments on my ankle.

But then came winter, followed by an unbroken string of stressful proposals and other grueling workplace challenges thrust upon me by my merciless corporate overlords. While I am (occasionally) capable of short bursts of productivity, I don't seem to respond well to uninterrupted months of high-performance indenture. A creative fellow such as myself needs time to recharge by staring out the window, going for hikes on the weekends, watching schlocky movies...and exercising outdoors in mild and comforting weather.

In short, I feel that for the past 5 months, Mother Nature and the guys who sign my paychecks have conspired to make it very difficult for a guy like me to stay in shape. I have eaten too much, exercised too little, and dreamt of batteries and fuel cells -- rather than the preferred topics of bikini hot tubs and rock n' roll.

Sigh.

Anyway, a few weeks ago, I finally had a chance to go for a Waterton run in pleasant temperatures under a bright blue sky. I felt good, got inspired, and ran hard. It was the first time I had finished a 10K in under an hour in quite some time, and I was quite pleased with myself. But then my feet started to hurt.

At first, I thought it was simple bruising from the impact I endured from running at such a high speed. [Note to my athlete friends: I know that a 1-hour 10K is unforgivably pitiful by your standards, but for me, it's like being possessed by Paavo Nurmi. So please keep your snide comments to yourselves. Thanks.] But a few days of rest did not release the pain as it would've if it were mere bruising.

I have ignored the symptoms as much as I could, and have had a week of pretty good workouts -- including some fast (for me) running. But sometimes, it hurts just to stand on my tootsies. I finally decided to look on the internet.

Wikipedia blames plantar fasciitis on obesity and decreased dorsiflexion, both of which I have in abundance. Old age is probably another contributing factor. Recommended treatments include rolling your foot on a ball, and stretching. Hence the connection with the graphic at the top of this post.

No, I probably won't take a yoga class. (They don't seem to offer the free ones at 24-Hr Fitness anymore.) But I am trying to do a few poses in my spare time. And it appears that work will be mellowing out a bit over the next few weeks, so I might have the energy to work on my flexibility when I get home in the evenings.

I would appreciate your support, and perhaps even the occasional reminder to get up out of my chair and try some toe touches. And it probably wouldn't hurt me if you slapped my hand each time I reach for that extra taco at dinnertime. I still have a few months before the Milwaukee triathlon, so there is hope that I can recover enough to not embarrass myself.

OK, I'm off to dorsiflex myself into a good night's sleep. Have a great day, and pleasant dreams!

Immortals

Yes, we all will eventually have chips implanted in our heads. In fact, the company I work for is working on the batteries that will power those devices. I suppose The Matrix won't be far behind.

Well, OK, that's wrong -- The Matrix idea is just silly. The only reason those movies were popular is because of the slo-mo-fu. Unlike Star Wars--which will still be enjoyable 50 years from now--The Matrix will go down in history as a yawner. Star Wars had comic gay robots, a nearly-incestuous princess, and a heavy breather wearing a cape. Those are themes that transcend cinematic technology. If you remove Keanu's karate from The Matrix, all you're left with is nonsense.

Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against Keanu. I enjoyed Bill and Ted, and Speed, and...well, I'm sure there was something else.

But I digress. The point is that I mentioned Burt Mustin yesterday, and felt that he deserved more than just a passing reference. He played a funny old guy in movies and TV shows for over 25 years. From Leave it to Beaver to Dragnet to Batman, he was always ready whenever the script called for a sharp old codger. He just seemed like the kind of geriatric who would be fun to have around.

In his youth, Mustin played sports, and developed a lifetime interest in Barbershop harmony, performing in and hosting numerous related musical events.

But what I really appreciate is the fact that he played a 90-year-old coot for nearly 3 decades. It's good to find your niche and work it for all it's worth.

Hmmm, I wonder what MY niche is? Maybe I'll figure it out by the time I'm 90.

Anyway, thinking about Mustin's appearance in "Cat Ballou" reminded me that Jane Fonda is really pretty. Too bad there was all that political unpleasantness...

And speaking of unpleasantness, the other guy that pops into my mind when thinking about a long career of playing the same basic role is a fellow named Charles Lane. You may know him better as Homer C. Bedlow.

Lane's acting career spanned nearly 6 decades, and as far as I know, he was always the same nasty, mean-spirited, and inflexible tool of the oppressors. Whether he was a lawyer, an accountant, auditor, or bureaucrat, he was always threatening and annoying the protagonists.

The odd thing is that he appeared in so many comedies. But I guess that just goes to prove what a great actor he was -- he could play it for drama or for laughs with equal success.


Can you think of anyone who is doing the same thing today? Is there a present-day analog of Mustin or Lane? Someone who appears on the screen and you instantly know what they'll be doing? Someone whose career spans an extended time of successfully repeating variations on the same role? If I think of anyone, I'll let you know. In the meantime, stay tuned for a few training updates. Have a great day, my friends.

Becoming Mathias

I used to make fun of the Luddites. And now it appears that I am one.

I'm not sure how this happened...just as I have no clue exactly when I transitioned from a vibrant and charming young ladies man into Burt Mustin.

Technology users fall into 4 broad categories:

1. Risk takers. These are the folks who buy the first version of a product. These are the guys who paid $1500 for the first generation of Betamax, or like my buddy Steve Smith, paid several hundred dollars for an SR-10 calculator.
2. Rapid Adopters. This is where I used to be. We're the guys who buy the SR-10 6 months later when it only costs about $80...but still have one before the mass adoption of the general population. Being in this category explains why I have gone through almost a dozen film and video cameras over the years, and why I spent more than a month's salary on a 1st generation IBM PC clone back when monochrome monitors and 360K floppy disks were pretty close to the cutting edge. I read the DOS 2.0 users manual cover to cover, and learned enough BASIC programming language to draw a Blue Oyster Cult symbol on my computer screen before there were any dedicated graphics programs available for home computers.
3. The General Public. These are the folks who are not averse to technology, but will only get on board when society more or less forces them to. They'll learn to use a word processor, and might even take advantage of Spell Check...but probably won't write macros or attempt to master using styles and/or bookmarks.
4. The Zombie Amish. Some people seem to be able to shuffle through life without ever grasping the most rudimentary technological skills. A few of these are simply stupid...but the majority are just wired to approach life with a non-technological perspective.
   
   My dad, for example, has always been comfortable with hand tools -- and has tackled household chores and personal construction projects that I would never attempt. But for whatever reason, he could never get along with computers. Simple things (like saving a file to a specific location) continued to elude him despite extensive tutoring and detailed written instructions.
   
   I wonder if it's simply generational? My dad grew up in a time where he was not the only kid who rode his horse to school. He was able to master the technology of the time, though, and spent decades designing electrical systems for the world's most sophisticated airplanes. But the personal computer baffled him.
   
   My son, on the other hand, intuitively grasps every video game ever made...while I got lost shortly after they turned PacMan into a chick. I could understand the concepts behind Tetris and Asteroids, but the actions and motivations of the Mario Brothers and Donkey Kong, et al, remain beyond my comprehension to this day.

Anyway, today's story begins with a request from my ex-wife's sister, who had some VHS tapes she wanted to digitize. Several years ago, I had purchased a video capture device for my PC -- you could play a videotape through a standard VCR and the software would convert it to Windows Media format. So I thought I'd be able to help.

Then my computer died. And the new box wouldn't accept the capture device's driver -- at least not without more effort than I wanted to put into it. Around that time, the Amazon Local discount promotion service sent out a not for 60% off video transfer service. I decided it would be easiest to just buy the package and let somebody else transfer these tapes. (I will update you on that whole process in a later post.)

It turns out that the transfer service provider was a dude working out of his home, and he lives on the edge of the eastern Aurora in one of those cleverly-designed neighborhoods where the streets resemble FSM appendages. Using my technological acumen, I found the address among the internets, printed a screen capture of the map, tossed the printout in the car, and headed in the general direction of Kansas.

I found the neighborhood without incident and am pretty sure I made the first two turns correctly. But moments later, I realized that none of the street signs I was seeing matched anything visible on my printout.

I was already late for my appointment, so rather than pursuing my normal strategy (ie, driving around in circles for as long as it takes), I decided to stop and ask for directions. I spotted a school with cars in the parking lot, and figured somebody would walk by before too long.

I pulled into the school lot and left my vehicle, map in hand. A moment later, a young woman walked by...and (trying not to appear creepy), I approached her. "I'm completely lost," I said. "Can you help me find Hitching Post Trail?"

She didn't recognize the street name, and couldn't find our current location on the map. I began to think that I was going to spend the evening in the Twilight Zone, circling around staring at signposts with ever-more-obscure street names until eventually my rusted Honda and dessicated corpse would be found by some distant future Blair Witch wanderers. Ugh.

But then the girl said, "I'll look it up on my phone."

D'oh!

I gave myself a crisp "coulda had a V8" head slap and thanked her for her time. It took about 10 seconds to speak the address into my smartphone's map app, and about 60 seconds more for the embedded Android direction babe to guide me directly to the dude's front porch.

So my question for you is this: What sort of brain degeneration is responsible for my precipitous decline -- from high-tech DOS guru to genial street idiot who doesn't realize that he is carrying a device that negates the need for street maps? And how close am I to becoming the kind of fellow who wants to tie up Chuck Heston in Shae Stadium and set fire to his Hi-Fi? Am I in danger of declaring that Google is indeed eeee-vil, and that stone knives and bearskins are preferable to mnemonic memory circuits?

I cannot say. But I pray that there is hope for me...and that when they finally implant chips in our heads, my brain won't explode from software/gray matter incompatibility due to an outdated intra-cranial operating system. Geez.

Oh well. The good news is that those video tapes are being processed, and that a few more horrible home movies will soon be available for the U-tube (or whatever). Take solace in that, and have a great day!