Writing Is Sometimes Work

Writing can be like a partial conversation among friends. Writing can be therapeutic by admitting to things that concern or anger you. Writing can be artistic as you commune with the muse whose job it is to inspire you.

However, writing can also be work.

Lately, I haven’t written much because inspiration has been difficult. As an idealist who likes to believe that by pulling together we can accomplish anything, today’s “I’m right and you’re wrong” attitude is a definite buzzkill.

What’s wrong with “My opinion and your opinion are mutually exclusive and universally exhaustive, but go ahead and tell me about your opinion anyway,”? Nothing, but instead of conversing, we prefer to find an internet site, radio station, organization, or whatever that reinforces our own opinion. It’s easier than critcally thinking.

In 1998, Andrew Wakefield published a flawed–if not faked–study that linked autism to childhood vaccinations. The study was discredited and the former Dr. Wakefield was stripped of his medical license. However, some believed–and continue to believe Wakefield’s tripe.

Right now, in Asheville, North Carolina, 36 children are suffering from chickenpox. While chickenpox may not be fatal–although in some cases it has, it hopefully won’t be for any of these children. Meanwhile, their parents will most likely continue to limit themselves to associating with others who agree with their concerns about vaccinations.

Oh, Woe!

I once had a cat, and when we moved from Louisiana to Florida, he got out of his travel carrier, got under my seat, and cried for hours, “Oh woe! Oh woe!”

That’s how I feel about not blogging much lately.

However:

Real excuses–I got in an auto accident. No big deal, except that when 3 of your cervical vertebrae (neck bones) are bolted together, the other four have to flex a lot more (Ouch).

I’m working on my story.

Things are crazy at work (but aren’t they always?).

Fake excuses:

It’s getting cold, the shift from daylight savings time to standard time is here, and [your turn to fill in the blank].

I’ve rewritten Chapter Two of my sorry a dozen times, at least. I may be done, but paraphrasing George Lucas, Leonardo Da Vinci, etc. “A story is never finished, only abandoned,”

So–and this is your part–if I share my story while it is in development, and it changes, you have t accept that.

Deal?

Deal!

Thank you.

P.S. If I were to publish this after WordPress’s spell checker finished wiht it you would not be happy campers. Too bad they wanted their own (patent pending), cumbersome, crappy, system. I hope they never ACTUALLY PAID ANYONE TO SCREW UP A PERFECTLY GOOD BLOG.WEB SYSTEM! But, hey, that’s juet me.

Historical Tradition

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I’ve read and heard about the “standard procedures” of the US Congress in its early days, especially during the time leading up to the Civil War. Some members (and COngressional staffers) carried pistols and almost all had walking sticks.  Being carried unconscious form the hallowed chambers was not unheard of, since fistfights were not uncommon, they used their walking sticks as clubs, and the ubiquitous spittoon was often thrown or poured on “my distinguished colleague from [fill in the blank]” as a First Amendment protected expression of free speech.

You do know what a spittoon is?

Think about it. Ewwwwww!

While you might find their deportment while in office vile and disgusting, these are our roots, and it might be well to return to them. Don’t forget, in our early days, the Vice President came to the capital to be sworn in, then headed back home.

I propose bringing back these proud American traditions.

First, since, in the formative years of Congress, there was no television, I propose that all speeches may only occur when the Congress has a quorum. That means that a majority of the members of that house of Congress must be present even if they have to listen to a colleague’s drabble. The CSPAN cameras (God love ’em) are great, but do not constitute a quorum.

Second, elected congressmen and senators should be allowed–nay, encouraged–to bring the weapon of their choice with them, just as they did in the early to mid 1800s. Let’s see how that affects gridlock. (Don’t worry, there are damned few who would have the guts to actually use a weapon, and most couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn. I’m not including those few military veterans, who would not only hit their target, but do so with a precise grouping.)

Third, insist that members of Congress experience what the FOunding Fathers did. The British do so at least to a degree in their courts. In Congress, this would call for stockings, instead of trousers, heavy woolen clothes year-round and, no screens on the windows, much less air conditioning.

I’d bet that this would have some impact on gridlock–not to mention an increase in special elections as a few members of Congress were killed or injured and many of the others fled for their lives.

Just kidding–everything is working just fine as it is.

License Agreements

When we download software (since many computers don’t have optical drives anymore) the first thing we see is the licensing agreement, which is very long and complicated. Here’s what all that legalese boils down to:

  1. You are obliged to send us money.
  2. We have the right to keep it.
  3. We are not responsible for the software failing to work, containing malware.
  4. In fact, we are not responsible for anything.
  5. We have the right to sell your personal information to anyone.
  6. We have the right to rewrite the software so you have to buy it again.
  7. We have the right to limit the time you can use the software.
  8. If there is a dispute, you will not sue; the dispute will be settled by arbitration.
  9. We reserve the right to pick someone we like and who likes us to act as arbitrator.
  10. When you lose (and you will), you will be responsible for paying any and all expenses for said arbitration.
  11. We paid one or more lawyers a lot of money to write this agreement, so we have included that cost in the price for this product.

How much money does the software industry spend each year on lawyers? Probably more than they do on software engineers–but tha’s just a guess.

Feel free to add “whereas,” “heretofore,” “hereinafter,” etc., as many times as you like.

Verizon

If you’ve ever had a problem with a large corporation, you may appreciate this actual letter

Hans Vestberg, Chief Executive Officer
Verizon
140 West Street
New York, NY 10007

I have been a Verizon FiOS customer for over ten years. Initially, it was a reliable service, and I chose Verizon for television cable, internet, and telephone. Unfortunately, Verizon’s service has not gone downhill, but rather over a cliff.

First, Verizon migrated its e-mail to AOL. If I wish to remotely access my email through AOL [advertisement spam] I have [advertisement spam] to wade through [advertisement spam] a series of [advertisement spam] screens. I normally receive my email through Microsoft Outlook, so, most of the time it was not an issue. However, [advertisement spam] at times [advertisement spam] I have to go [advertisement spam] through the AOL [advertisement spam] website.

Next, Verizon shifted email accounts to the Yahoo domain without informing its customers. I have two Verizon accounts that I access through Outlook; one migrated successfully to Yahoo while the other did not.

It is impossible to access Verizon customer service. There are no telephone numbers on the web page; clicking on “Contact Us” takes the customer to automated chat, customer forums, or a bounce back to the previous page. The Customer Forum is especially Verizonesque—it shifts the responsibility to customers to fix Verizon’s problems; the most recent forum posting about email is dated 22 June 2014.

I contacted [advertisement spam] AOL [advertisement spam] only to be told, albeit politely, that this was a technical problem and technical service required a subscription of $14.99 per month. They gave me one month free, but required a credit card, to automatically renew unless I canceled. I grudgingly provided my card information.

I was transferred to technical support (~20-minute wait time) and after two hours, absolutely nothing was accomplished.

So, I’m left with the same problem I had before. Incidentally, there are a number of sites on the Internet, easily Googled, with other customers facing the exact same Verizon/AOL/Yahoo e-mail problem.

Perception

Perception is a strange and wonderful thing. Many people live with the perception that “it will never happen to me.” Objectively this sounds foolish, if each of us included everything that could, indeed, happen to us, we would  be paralyzed with fear and spend our lives quivering under our beds in a fetal position.

However, since we are not data driven, realistic, computational intellects, we take totally unnecessary chances that make no sense and what do we have to show for it?

  • The ability to fly
  • Transplanting organs from a dead person to a living person
  • Automobiles, with gas stations full of highly flammable/explosive fuel located throughout the world
  • And a very humongous, etc.

On the other hand, a logical, realist would be naked and cold, banging stones together outside his cave because fire is just too dangerous.

 

Sears

So, Sears is in big trouble. That’s a shocker.

When I was a child, there were various stores that were ubiquitous in my part of the world.

F.W. Woolworth’s, founded in 1878, was a so-called “Five and Dime,” which was also noted for its lunch counters. In 1962, management decided that it needed to be a superstore, which it named “Woolco.”  It died in 1983.

S.S. Kresge was another five and dime; it was founded in 1899, and, also in 1962, its management decided that it too needed to become a big-box superstore, which operated under the name of K-Mart. K-Mart filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection in 2002. When it emerged from bankruptcy, its business geniuses decided that it should purchase another retailer, Sears, in 2004.

Sears & Roebuck was founded in 1892 and after malls became popular in the 1960s, it was often one of the “anchor stores.” Sears had a reputation for not reinvesting in its core business but focusing, instead on shareholder dividends and purchasing or starting other businesses, such as Allstate Insurance, Dean Witter Financial, Coldwell Banker Real Estate, creating the Discover Card, etc.

Today, Sears is showing dismal performance, which it blames on its requirement to pay for the pensions that its retirees earned. My mother worked for K-Mart and with the bankruptcy and merger, she lost her pension, so we’re not talking about every Sears/K-Mart employee, only some.

Incidentally, most of us who get a paycheck have money deducted each payday for Medicare, Social Security, and possibly some type of retirement plan and/or other savings. Shouldn’t Sears have done something similar and invested money over time so that they wouldn’t have to pay pensions out of their operating budget today? However, their priority was shareholder dividends and purchasing other companies. They apparently were neither interested in their future, nor their people.

COincidentally, today retail is shifting to remote purchases that are then delivered to the consumer, usually by US Mail. For many years, Sears was known for its mail order catalog–during my childhood, it wasn’t Christmas without the Sears catalog and its extensive toy section.

By today’s standards the mail order catalog process seems a little slower with sending in an order by mail, but it was the same basic concept. In other words, it’s just possible that if greed were not so huge a factor, Sears could have been Amazon rather than on the verge of collapse.

The Storm Before the Calm

Hurricane Florence is going west–no, south–no, east-notheast, no—hell, nobody knows.

So, as things develop, all of the usual suspects (cue Casablanca–roll film) are behaving in the the way that all the usual suspects do:

  • Some television meteorologists are standing in knee deep water or out in the wind.
  • Other television meteorologists are predicting where the storm will go based on satellite fed, computer generated wild–ass guesses.
  • Elected officials are assuring people that: a) everything will be fine, or b) mandatory evacuation is necessary (“Abandon your posts! Run for your lives!” Denethor, Return of the King). [Flip coin here]

I’ll keep you posted.

 

 

Whatever Shall Be Will Be

Hurricane Florence is getting closer. The eye of the hurricane will be about 250 miles to the south of where I live, but, it’s not the eye that causes problems.

Hurricanes–cyclones–rotate in a counterclockwise direction. (Cyclonic means counterclockwise.) This means that if one’s location is above the eye, the hurricane is going to push the water in (deja vu–didn’t I say this yesterday????). So being above the eye is not necessarily a good thing.

Florence is now a category 4 hurricane, which means it moves faster and inevitably covers more territory. It may become a category 5. In any case, I’m going to get wet.

My wife, being much smarter than me, is taking our children to safety, far west and uphill from here. After all our years together, she knows that I live to help, so she understands (but does not necessarily give explicit approval) to my plan to stay here and provide emergency communications.

I expect to be successful, but this could be my last rodeo. After this, I may have to hang up the emergency communications hat and satisfy myself with the more sedate aspects of amateur radio; maybe I’ll take an occasional cruise, or whatever.

Actually, I look forward to that.

Major League catchers eventually succumb to their knees. Superstar quarterbacks succumb to traumatic brain injury. I suspect that, after this storm, I’ll succumb to whatever affliction affects disaster junkies.

Maybe I’m due to have some fun instead of a having one more additional fulltime job.

What do you think?

Pick at the Peak of Ripeness!

florence_tmo_2006257_lrg

September is when the hurricanes off the east coast of North America become ripe enough to be harvested and truly enjoyed. Like grapes or tomatoes, there are a few outliers that ripen earlier, but also like tomatoes and grapes, early hurricanes lack that full-bodied flavor that literally knocks you off your feet–sometimes permanently. Like tomatoes, hurricanes are best when picked fresh off the vine and tasted immediately.

If you don’t live in an area that experiences hurricanes, it is difficult to truly share the experience, but, I shall try. First, although the wind looks impressive on television, it is the storm surge of water that kills the most people. In Virginia, where we have been assured that there is no climate change, the sea levels have inexplicably risen and the land has subsided–a fancy word for “sunk.” The land sinks because industries such as paper mills pump so much water out of wells that the land actually sinks.

Evacuation is an option, but if you are not on the road at least three days before a hurricane makes landfall–with a confirmed reservation at a hotel well inland–you are going to bounce around in your car stuck in a 200 mile traffic jam in high winds heavy rains, and other cars tunning out of gas.

As the storm approaches, the water comes into the rivers and tributaries at high tide, the wind tends keep the water trapped inland, so the next few high tides keep adding. Then, there’s the rainfall. Yesterday–long before the hurricane is due, we got between 3 – 5 inches of rain. Since the most important thing around here is real estate development, all the low-lying wooded areas have been elevated so that instead of the water flowing into those areas, it flows the other way, into mature neighborhoods. Since electricity is also lost early in the game, the sewage treatment pumping stations fail; the water flowing through the streets tends to exhibit wads of toilet paper and worse.

The loss of electricity also means, given that there was never any global warning, everybody gets to enjoy the 90+ degree temperatures and 80+ percent humidity sans air-conditioning. Plus, ATMs, gas pumps, cash registers, etc. don’t work without electricity, so forget your debit or credit card. It’s exact change, cash only.

Afterward, the streets are lined with soggy wallboard and furniture from houses that were flooded. These sit, bake in the sun, grow mould, get rained on, wash the mould into the watershed, repeat. But, hey, Katrina barely bothered Louisiana and Maria was no problem for Puerto Rico, so what, me worry

It’s not a complete picture of what you may be missing, but hopefully it will help you share in our experience.

 

Oops!

I got into a fenderbender on the way home from work today.

I’ve always believed that all traffic engineers are related to body and fender shop owners.

The intersection where it happened is notorious for exactly these type of accidents.

Oops.

There’s a reason they call them accidents. No one intended for it to happen, but it did–by accident.

Oops.

John McCain

I rarely meet famous or important people, but I did meet John McCain.

The US Navy had committed to providing Sailors to fill in US Army combat support and combat service support roles in order to free up Soldiers to do what they had been trained for. Sailors are very adaptable–when one is at sea and a barber is needed (or a damage controlman, or a firefighter) there isn’t the opportunity to wait until someone trained and certified arrives. One of the Sailors will learn how to fill the gap, until relieved by someone better qualified. However, a nineteen year old Soldier knows more about ground combat than most Sailors ever will, so the two are not interchangeable.

US Sailors were serving, boots on the ground, in Afghanistan, Iraq, and Kuwait (alphabetical order). When they returned home, I believed that they deserved to be met at the airport by someone in a US Navy uniform, even if it was just me. Many came back through Thurgood Marshall International Airport in Baltimore, MD, so I made regular trips to that airport.

In 2008, while waiting for a group to return, John McCain happened to be in the area. Apparently someone alerted him to the return of the Sailors, and he, his bus, and everyone on it showed up. This was not a political photo opportunity–John McCain knew all too well what it means to come home from war. He was there to welcome the Sailors, the Soldiers, the Airmen, the Marines, and the Coast Guardsmen home. It s an open, honest, and heartfelt measure.

I have a picture of myself, a fellow officer, who is a wonderful person (but I don’t know if she wishes to be identified) and John McCain. This was after he had graciously greeted the returning service members of all branches as they entered the terminal. In the picture, his expression makes it obvious that he had more important things to do than be photographed with me–and that’s what makes the picture so special. He had greeted the returning American warriors, and even though I was there for them too, it was not about me–it was about them. Now it was time for him to move on to his next task.

I respect that. I respect a man who knows what’s important and especially respect a man whose moral compass is incorruptible. In McCain’s case, he did all this while maintaining a sense of humor. He was rare, which to me qualifies him as a treasure–a National Treasure.

Eternal rest, grant unto John McCain, Oh Lord, and let Your perpetual light shine upon him. May his soul, and the souls of all the faithful departed rest in peace. Amen

Chapter 1 – The Estate of R. Jonathon Wilkinson

The reading of Wilkinson’s will was quite the event, just as he had planned. His ex-wives, each of whom (according to him) had extracted their pound of flesh (complete with blood), were there. His relatives who, when he was alive, would actually cross the street to avoid him—unless they wanted money—all sat in anxious anticipation. In fairness, he probably (others would say definitely) deserved such treatment, but, like Don Corleone, the Godfather, to him it wasn’t personal, it was strictly business. However, it’s fair to say that his relatives’ behavior during his life contributed to his peculiar preparations.

At this point everyone was focused on the attorney he had hired for the occasion. Actually, the verb cast would be a better description than hired. The attorney-du-jour for this event had been hand-picked for his distinguished-looks and “radio voice,” with his only duty being to read Wilkinson’s will.

At the precise time, per instruction, he knocked on the conference room table to get everyone’s attention. Naturally, he was ignored, while relatives and former spouses busily engaged in overlapping shouting matches.

This lawyer, who was being paid a generous flat, rather than hourly fee, had no reason to let things drag out. Getting impatient with Wilkinson’s “friends” and relatives, he slammed the Wilkinson family’s old family Bible down on the table. Hard. This was also in accordance with his instructions.

This particular, leather-bound, sacred document had been in the Wilkinson family for at least a century and a half. It had been used to record births, deaths, and marriages for at least a century, although none of his family had ever even considered reading its contents. As far as anyone knew, the family could have been passing along an ornately bound mail order catalog or romance novel from generation to generation.

While it might have been the sound, it was more probably the cloud of dust followed by the coughing and sneezing throughout the room that finally encouraged everyone to focus on the attorney.

Several of Wilkinson’s inner circle of trusted employees brought out an ornate steel container—beautiful to the eye yet built to withstand anything short of a nuclear explosion. There was no need for these employees to do so, but they so wanted to be present and witness the events as they unfolded and it gave them the excuse to attend. They stepped back a respectful—or perhaps a safer—distance.

The lawyer-du-jour had a key in his vest pocket, which was fastened to the chain of a pocket watch. The key, chain, and watch had been retrieved from a safe deposit box that very morning. The lawyer, wearing a grey, pinstriped three-piece suit, white shirt and red tie with blue diagonal stripes—as instructed—had placed the key in one pocket and the watch, which appeared to be a fine antique watch (which was his to keep) in the other.

Now that it was silent, he dramatically checked the pocket watch.

“I believe that it is time to begin,” he announced in his beautiful baritone radio voice. He replaced the watch in right vest pocket and removed the key from the left. He went through the motions of dusting off the top of the box, even though it was already immaculate, and inserted the key. On the first try, the lock didn’t respond—but after all it had sat unused for over a quarter century. He removed the key, reinserted it and this time, with a solid turn of the key, the lock opened. The attendees began moving closer to see what the box held.

The attorney lifted the lid. The box contained but a single envelope, sealed with actual sealing wax imprinted with Wilkinson’s monogram, as was appropriate for the occasion. After all, this would be Wilkinson’s last communication with those with whom he had shared portions of his life. Would a new prince or princess be named as his heir? Would he create new fiefdoms by dividing his wealth and attaching conditions and requirements? How would his vast wealth be distributed? Who would reap without sowing? Who would gather without scattering?

The lawyer broke the wax seal, opened the envelope, and removed a sheet of finest parchment, handwritten with a proper ink pen—the kind you dip into an inkwell, not one with a cartridge, or God forbid, anything resembling a ball point.

The crowd was silently leaning forward as he began to read:

I, R. Jonathon Wilkinson, being of sound mind and body, without reservation, and of my own free will, do hereby write my last will and testament superseding and negating any previous such documents.

I have acquired great wealth and power during my life. Power I cannot bequeath.

As to my wealth, to my family, friends, business associates, charities, and others:

I leave absolutely nothing.

Instead, I have decided to take it with me.

The assembled multitude quickly turned into an angry mob, leaving the attorney looking most undistinguished with patches of hair missing, both eyes blackened, and a broken nose, which bled profusely. Naturally, an insurance policy had been purchased many years before to cover any medical bills and compensate the lawyer for any discomfort, as well as to replace all the furniture in that room, knowing it would be destroyed.

Eventually, the crowd disbursed. The lawyer, who was now sitting on the floor, stared at the smashed antique watch, which he had hoped to keep. Actually, the watch he held was a very accurate replica because, naturally, Wilkinson had anticipated the mayhem and damage. The genuine watch was delivered to the lawyer later that same day, along with a check for his services, and a personal note from Wilkinson thanking him for his time and apologizing for his family’s behavior. The note was handwritten and dated almost 25 years earlier.

Throughout it all, in the back corner of the room, an attractive woman had sat quietly. She had neither joined the others in their protest nor commented on it. Once everyone else had left, she removed a tissue from her purse, wiped her eyes, and headed out the door. She pressed the button for the elevator and waited for it to open.

(To be continued)

The Story

I’ve been working on a story for a while, but writing it keeps getting in the way.

I’ve always admired Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s “Sherlock Holmes,” which was published as a serial in the Strand magazine, a monthly publication. My story–“The Story”–has been under development for a while. Like most writers, I d-r-a-g things out far too long as I write them. It’s a case of “Wait! It was a small dog, not a puppy!.”

As George Lucas supposedly said, “Movies are never completed, only abandoned.” The same is probably true of stories, so I’m going to publish–on this blog–at least a chapter a month. I make no promise that a particular chapter (including one that I may publish) will not be removed or eliminated.

Welcome to the wonderful??? world of writing. You may have the chance to experience my dreams, frustrations, pain, and stupidity, as I try to write a story.

I’ve already changed at least five chapters, but, interestingly, all of the characters remain, although their experiences might be different. If I share, I’ll try not to be too confusing (I’m not responsible for confusing myself).

If it’s worthwhile–I hope you enjoy.

Chapter One is coming soon.

Peak Season

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For those of us who live on the East or Gulf Coasts, we’re now headed into peak hurricane season. Although hurricane season begins in June, we frequently see the worst storms–and the ones that make landfall–between now and the end of November.

It’s kind of like Christmas shopping–the stores have the Christmas products on the shelf in October, but it’s the last few weeks when the shoppers go into a frenzy.

So, I’ve checked the generator, put the six-month old gas from the storage cans into the car and replaced it with fresh (and added the fuel stabilizer). I’ve checked the backup chargers for the cell phones, and of course the ham radio gear.

Now all I have to do is wait.

The last big storm we had was Hurricane Irene in 2011. We’ve had some damaging, but not disastrous weather since, so I’ve been waiting since 2011.

If you’re wondering, I much prefer waiting to dealing with a storm. Wish me a happy and successful 2018 wait, with no serious storms.

 

MOM

Today is my mother’s birthday. If she were still here, she’d be 91 (as would my dad, whose birthday is earlier in the year). They were a matched set who belonged together. Mom died first, after a fall, and Dad grieved until he joined her. Now that they’re back together, all is right in their world.

If your parents are still alive, cherish every day you have with them, even if–especially if–they don’t measure up to your expectations. As we get older, and gain a modicum of wisdom, we begin to understand and accept people for who they are, not who we think they should be.

Happy birthday, Mom.

Professionally Broken

Broken-Ham-Radio

A friend of mine once sent a radio transceiver (transmitter and receiver) to a reputable company for repair. When he was told it was finished, he picked it up and was very pleased at how well it worked.

A couple of days later, the reputable company called him and told him that they had given him a radio of the same brand and model as his, but the one they gave him belonged to another customer. Would he please return it and pick up his own, which was now repaired.

He brought back the radio, and they showed him his (now repaired) radio–exactly the same brand and model. However, the price they wanted to charge him for repairing his radio was outrageously high.

He told them that: a) the price was ridiculous, and b) he had done them a favor by returning the radio that had been given to him. After all, he was under no obligation to return it, and it was identical to the one he had brought in.

Their response? “Tough.”

He asked what they were going to do. They informed him that if he didn’t want to pay for the repair, they would have the technician return it to its previous condition. He was incredulous and asked, “So after the cost of repairing it, you’re willing to pay again to have my radio professionally broken.”

“Yep.”

Needless to say, that company is now out of business.

However, that was years ago. Today, as near as I can tell, high-tech equipment is pre-broken at the factory. The symptoms won’t show up immediately, but definitely will be fully developed just after the warranty and/or extended protection plan expires.

I call it frustrating. Manufacturers call it progress.

Good, Better, Worst

1957_Ford_Thunderbird_white

I spent a good portion of the weekend trying to work with several computer programs that defied both logic and me. There’s a reason for that.

When I was young, automobile companies would design and produce a very popular model, such as the Ford Thunderbird. It started out as a two seater sports car, similar to European sportsters. The hardtop version, in the earlier years, had two small round windows that had no other purpose than to look cool.

Every year, they “improved” it by making it larger, adding rear seats, and making it generally uncool. This practice has been continually refined since then so that good products are improved until they fail. It’s the product equipment of The Peter Principle–the cream rises until it sours.

One explanation is that the enemy of good is better. Actually the Perotto Principle applies; it takes 20 percent of the resources to achieve 80 percent results. It then takes 80 percent of the resources to achieve the final 20 percent.

Such was the case with these programs. The original versions did a few things very well. The current, new and improved versions do many things, but only those who wrote the computer code understand how to make them work.

There’s nothing wrong with “good enough.” If it gets the job done, that’s all that is required; it doesn’t need chrome fender dents and a two-way sneeze-through wind guard.*

 

*Ralph Spoilsport Motors–Firesign Theatr

Scandal!

zebra

Although we’re jaded by laundered money, gangland murders, fake news, and politicians, some things just go beyond the pale. A zoo in Cairo is suspected of painting a mule and passing it off as a zebra. What the . .  .?

Where is PETA when you need them?

It was only a matter of time.

I knew that body painting people wasn’t as innocent as we were supposed to believe. The “skinny jeans” that were painted on never fooled anyone–the number of nearby males copiously drooling immediately gave it away.

jeans

Artificial zebras–what’s next? Adding artificial necks to mules and passing them off as giraffes? Stapling horns on horses to sell as unicorns? A Monty Python world in which dead parrots are nailed to the perch in their cage to pass them off as Norwegian Blues? (Although Norwegian Blues do have lovely plumage.)

Next we’ll be making people believe that dinosaurs can be retrieved from their DNA. And as long as we’re doing dinosaurs, why not clone Fred and Wilma Flintstone?

It’s a sad state of affairs.

PLEASE! If you are thinking of buying a zebra, run it through the local car wash several times, just to be sure. The mule (or zebra, if it is authentic) won’t like it, but you must protect your investments. Otherwise Caveat Emptor!

You’ve been warned!

I’m No Angel

With apologies to Gregg Allman . . . .

At work–or even worse, at home–I sometimes get so wrapped up in my own ideas that I never give a thought as to whether or not I’m even close to correct. Fortunately, from time to time, I remind myself that when I shave in the morning, if I need to turn the lights on, that means there is no glowing halo to illuminate the room–therefore I’m still an imperfect human being.

There’s nothing wrong with that.

As humans, we have free will, make choices, and while some might be great, others are flat-out mistakes. That goes along with free will. We try and succeed and pat ourselves on the back. We try and fail and blame it on someone else, the conditions, the weather, or whatever.

But then we quietly admit to ourselves that it really wasn’t anything except a well-meant decision that didn’t work out. It might have been the right decision one minute before or two minutes after; it might never have been the right one, but it was not the best choice for that time and place.

We don’t have the answers in this world–hell, we’re lucky to figure out a few reasonable questions. But that’s okay; that’s our lot in life–to face challenges and respond in the best way we can.

And, when we succeed, it’s glorious.