Saturday, April 30, 2005

Moving Day

Today is moving day. It is not my moving day, it is Tim's moving day. Friends help friends move. Friends help friends move, even though the last time we did this logistical mambo it felt more like Napoleon's retreat from Moscow than a simple apartment move. Things were a shambles. Things needed packing. Things were such that I silently vowed never to help Tim move again.

Vows often fall by the wayside. Vows especially loose their power after the statute of limitations on memory runs out. More importantly, friends help friends move, vow or no vow.

This time will be different. This time it will be organized. This time items will be in boxes with labels. This time, Tim has a wife.

Thursday, April 28, 2005

Avast There Ye Scurvy Dogs

It's the anniversary of the mutiny on the Bounty—which took place in the south seas in 1789 on the British cargo ship the HMS Bounty—the most notorious mutiny in naval history. Wordsworth wrote a poem about it. Samuel Taylor Coleridge's "Rime of the Ancient Mariner" was based on it. And, of course, there was the famous book by Nordhoff and Hall, which was made into a movie. In that book, and in the movies, the villain of the story always was the brutal Captain Bligh, but historians have argued that Captain Bligh wasn't any harder than the average sea captain, and was actually the hero of the story.

“It was one of the most extraordinary feats of navigation in naval history”

Mutinies were relatively common at the time. During the Napoleonic Wars, there were more than a thousand of them in British naval records. And most scholars believe the cause of the mutiny on the Bounty wasn't the mutineers' feelings towards their captain so much as their feelings about the women on the islands that they had just left behind.

Captain Bligh was sent to the South Seas to pick up bread fruit trees from Tahiti and take them back to the West Indies. Tahiti seemed like a paradise to all of them. The women were so beautiful and compliant.

A few days after the ship had left Tahiti, 11 crew members burst into the captain's cabin, forced him out on the deck, dressed only in his nightshirt, put him in a small life boat. 17 other members of the ship volunteered to go with him. They were given some bread and pork and rum and wine and 28 gallons of water, and set adrift in the middle of the Pacific Ocean in a boat a little more than 20 feet long and 7 feet wide with one sail and 6 oars.

With so many men, so many supplies aboard, the boat sat low in the water, just about six inches to spare. They set out for the island of Timor, 3,900 miles away, and Captain Bligh, using only a compass and a sextant, navigated their way through the Great Barrier Reef. They went through several storms on short rations of less than an ounce of bread and four ounces of water a day, and after 48 days at sea, they reached the island of Timor where they were welcomed by Dutch settlers. It was one of the most extraordinary feats of navigation in naval history.

From the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily.

Tuesday, April 26, 2005

Dark Day in Spain

It was on this day in 1937 that German bombers attacked and destroyed the city of Guernica in Spain. Hitler was one of the allies of the Fascist side, the side of Franco, in the Spanish Civil War, and he wanted to use the Spanish Civil War as a testing ground for his new blitzkrieg military strategy.

It was the first time in history that a city was completely destroyed from the air

It was a Monday, this day in 1937, a market day in Guernica, farmers were in the town square with their harvest, shoppers filled the street, and that afternoon the German Luftwaffe attacked.

The first wave of planes dropped blast bombs that destroyed the principal buildings; the second wave flew low, gunning down the citizens; and the third wave dropped incendiary bombs to burn any remaining parts of the city. The attack lasted for three and a half hours. When it was over, almost nothing of the city remained. It was the first time in history that a city was completely destroyed from the air.

One of the people who heard the news of the bombing the following day was the painter Pablo Picasso, who was in exile in Paris. He was trying to come up with an idea for a mural to be displayed at the World's Fair in Paris that summer, and when he heard about the bombing, he began a new painting called Guernica. He did it on a huge canvas: 12 feet high, 26 feet wide, worked on it for a little more than a month. The painting he produced showed no planes, no bombs, no explosions. It was just a black and white image of a wailing woman holding a dead child in her arms, a dead man on the ground holding a broken sword, a bull, a screaming horse, a woman on fire, a woman falling to one knee, another woman leaning in a window and shining a lamp on the whole scene.

It was done in a primitive, almost cartoonish style to look like newsprint. It was displayed at the Paris World's Fair and people weren't sure what to make of it. Leftist critics said the painting didn't have a direct enough political message, but some people saw the painting as a warning that everything they loved was about to be lost.

Two years later Hitler invaded Poland, using the same bombing strategy, and Picasso's painting went on to become the most famous antiwar painting of the 20th Century.

From the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily.

Sunday, April 24, 2005

Global Stupidity

Let's be careful out there people


First spotted on Moxie Grrrl

What's in a Name?



Richard Harvey Knight's Aliases



Your movie star name: Peanut Butter Orwell

Your fashion designer name is Richard Nancy

Your socialite name is George Toronto

Your fly girl / guy name is R Kni

Your detective name is Dog Markham

Your barfly name is Popcorn Guinness

Your soap opera name is Harvey Willowgate

Your rock star name is Mars Bar Light

Your star wars name is Ricros Kniand

Your punk rock band name is The Happy Bagpipes


Found on Martha O'Connor's blog

Saturday, April 23, 2005

Birthday Bard

It's the birthday of William Shakespeare, born in Stratford-on-Avon, England (1564), in a modest room above the shop on Henley Street where his father, John, made and sold gloves. As a teenager he married Anne Hathaway, an older woman. They had three children before Shakespeare went off to London to achieve greatness in the theater. By 1595, he was acting and writing plays for a theater company called the Lord Chamberlain's Men, and in 1599 he became a part-owner of the Globe Playhouse. Shakespeare returned to Stratford in about 1610, having written 37 plays and 154 sonnets. Stratford-on-Avon is now the second most popular tourist destination in England, after London.

Sonnet 144

Two loves I have, of comfort and despair,
Which like two spirits do suggest me still;
The better angel is a man right fair,
The worser spirit a woman colored ill.
To win me soon to hell, my female evil
Tempteth my better angel from my side,
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,
Wooing his purity with her foul pride.
And whether that my angel be turned fiend
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell;
But being both from me, both to each friend,
I guess one angel in another's hell.
Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.

From the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily.

Friday, April 22, 2005

A Real "Pissant"

It's the birthday of Immanuel Kant, (books by this author) born in Konigsberg, East Prussia (1724), to Lutheran parents. He's the author of the Critique of Pure Reason (1781), in which he gave the definition of the categorical imperative—morality dictated by actions based on rightness: “Act as if the maxim of your action were to become, through your will, a general natural law.”
From the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily.

Now I've got the Monty Python Philosophers's song stuck in my head all day.

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Meditating on Imperial Birthdays

“we must get through the problems of our lives with patience and endurance”

It's the birthday of Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius, born in A.D. 121. He is not as well known for his leadership abilities as he is for his deeply philosophical nature. He was a kind and tolerant ruler who freed many slaves and tried his best to rid Rome of corruption. But Aurelius is best known for the writings he left behind. They were diaries and reflections he wrote every day, and were not meant for publication, but were his own personal insights into the stresses of ruler-ship and of everyday life, and fears about his own personal inadequacies. His writings, now known as the Meditations, also mark his beliefs in the doctrines of Stoicism: that we must get through the problems of our lives with patience and endurance, drawing on our own inner resources to see us through. He believed that most of life was predestined, but that much of it could be improved by our own discipline and will power. He wrote: “If you work at that which is before you, following right reason seriously, vigorously, calmly, without allowing anything else to distract you, but keeping your divine part pure, as if you might be bound to give it back immediately; if you hold to this, expecting nothing, fearing nothing, but satisfied with your present activity according to nature…you will be happy. And there is no man who is able to prevent this. ”

From the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily.

Additional links by me.

Homework

Today I'm doing something I haven't done for years. I'm working from home. Yes that's right. I'm at home, dressed in my PJs, drinking my own coffee, ensuring that Western Civilization does not fall from lack of concrete and gravel shipments, due to network glitches. This is the kind of thing that would never have been possible at International Greed Enablement. “Work from home? Are you Mad?” That was only reserved for the privileged elite of the executive wing. They guys who had their own company-paid-for satellite hookups at their cottages. To the rest, toil in the cube was our lot.

“Work from home? Are you Mad?”

It is surprising to me just how many managers in the corporate jungle can't function unless their staff are right outside their door where they can be seen. I can “Dog It” with the best of them in the office and you'll never know I wasn't actually doing anything. At home, you at least have to produce something to show for the fact that you're not in the office. If they can't see you, they at least need to hear from you. I can do that. That will be easy. It will be easier still as I brew a fresh pot of coffee, make some toast with jam, and relax on my sofa with my comfy slippers and my trusty laptop at my side. “Hi Ho Dell Latitude Away!”

I think I'm going to enjoy the change of pace a great deal.

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

Photographic Zeitgeist

I've been having a lot of fun taking photos with my ancient digital camera that I purchased for way more money than I had back in 1999. I had been using Picasa and Hello.com to post photos to blogger.com. Lately, however, I've become very fond of Flickr. The collage below is a collection of photos I've posted to my photobog via the Flickr interface. I find that I like it better than what I've been using, and Flickr has a built in community of sorts of other like minded shutterbugs.





Come Up and See Me

“ Too much of a good thing can be wonderful.”

(Further reading available at Amazon Canada, US and UK)

In 1927 on this day, actress Mae West was jailed for her performance in Sex, the Broadway play she wrote, directed, and starred in. She served ten days in prison, and jail time seemed to have done her good - it didn't make her change her act, but it did bring her national notoriety - and helped make her one of Hollywood's most memorable, and quotable, stars. She said: “Too much of a good thing can be wonderful.”


From the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily.

Additional links by me.

Monday, April 18, 2005

What A Day

The day was busy. It was busy like a nest of hornets. A nest of angry hornets. The telephone rang constantly; email was fast, furious, and endless; decisions within decisions within decisions. It felt like I was at the nexus of a corporate vortex.

“If it makes sense... We don't do that here.”

I am finding the pace enjoyable, if only because of the difference from the slow plodding that was International Greed Enablement. At Gigantic Concrete things move fast. Problems move fast, complaints move fast, blame moves fast and if you know what's good for you, you'll move fast too. The only thing that doesn't move fast is actual project results. If I try to analyze it too much I will probably go more insane than I am. To quote one of the architects, “If it makes sense... We don't do that here.”

So I'll muddle through as best as I can. I won't let it get to me too much, and I'll enjoy the ride while it lasts. How fatalistic is that?

I'm not here. You're not here. There is no Beep.

You scored as Existentialism. Your life is guided by the concept ofExistentialism: You choose the meaning and purpose of your life.

“Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does.” - “It is up to you to give [life] a meaning.” --Jean-Paul Sartre

“It is man's natural sickness to believe that he possesses the Truth.”
--Blaise Pascal

More info at Arocoun's Wikipedia User Page...

Existentialism 85%
Justice (Fairness) 65%
Hedonism 50%
Utilitarianism 45%
Strong Egoism 35%
Apathy 35%
Nihilism 20%
Divine Command 15%
Kantianism 10%

What philosophy do you follow? (v1.03)
created with QuizFarm.com

Found blog surfing at The Secret Garden.

Sunday, April 17, 2005

Where Did All the Blogs Go?

A small moment of panic set in today. You see my bloglines.com account got screwed up and immediately two things annoyed me. One I couldn't read up on all the blogs I like to follow and two, All of my blog links on my sidebar disappeared. Thankfully the good tech people at bloglines.com fixed everything and I can go back to reading and commenting with abandon.


I'm in the process of changing computers and operating systems and I've been mucking about. I thought that I had screwed things up completely (which is so like me), but all is back in order once again.

Saturday, April 16, 2005

Happy Birthday Tramp

It's the birthday of the filmmaker and actor Charlie Chaplin, (books by this author) born in London (1889).


Life is a tragedy when seen in close-up, but a comedy in long-shot


He started out as a vaudeville actor in a comedy troupe. He and his fellow actors would rehearse for hours before each performance, performing their slapstick routines with meticulous attention to details. He was playing the role of a drunk when a filmmaker in the audience saw his act and asked him to come to Hollywood to be in movies.


When Chaplin arrived in Hollywood, he was shocked to see how little rehearsal went into each movie. Hollywood directors at the time filmed each scene in a single take, refusing to waste money on extra film. Chaplin tried to get used to the Hollywood style, and he took all the jobs he could get, saving almost all the money he made. But he was disgusted at the quality of the movies. The camera often wasn't pointed in the right direction to capture his movements, and many of his favorite moments ended up on the cutting room floor. At the end of five months, he asked the producer if he could direct his own movie, and he put up $1,500 of his own savings as a guarantee against losses.


That year, 1914, Chaplin directed, wrote, and starred in 16 films in six months. It was that year that he debuted his most famous character: the "little tramp," who's always beaten down by life, always the butt of the jokes, but who never gives up his optimism. Chaplin saw the character as a bum who dreams he is a gentleman. He said, "That is why, no matter how desperate the predicament is, I am always very much in earnest about clutching my cane, straightening my derby hat and fixing my tie, even though I have just landed on my head."


The little tramp character was so successful that Chaplin became the first person to have complete control over every aspect of the movies he made. He was an obsessive perfectionist, and pioneered the use of retakes, shooting each one of his scenes multiple times to make sure he got it right. He spent two weeks filming a single scene in The Kid (1920), in which the small boy stirs pancakes while his adoptive father watches. He ultimately shot 300,000 feet of film to make The Kid, and only used 5,000 feet of it for the final product.


Other Hollywood executives thought he was crazy. But he was the most successful filmmaker in the world for more than 10 years, until the introduction of sound.


He was the last major filmmaker to make silent movies. Two of his greatest films City Lights (1931) and Modern Times (1936) were made after the debut of talkies in 1927. His only concession to sound in those films was the use of a musical soundtrack and some sound effects.


Charlie Chaplin said, "Life is a tragedy when seen in close-up, but a comedy in long-shot."


From the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily.

Friday, April 15, 2005

Not a Teenage Ninja Mutant Turtle...

It's the birthday of Leonardo da Vinci, (books by this author) born in the Republic of Florence (1452). He only finished a few paintings in his life, including The Last Supper (1495-98) and Mona Lisa (c. 1503-06). He worked very slowly. A monk who watched him paint The Last Supper said he often showed up, stared at his half finished painting for a while, and then went home for the day, without painting anything. He kept the Mona Lisa with him for most of his life, working on it now and again, and then taking breaks for years.

“Tell me, tell me if anything got finished”


But his notebooks overflowed with ideas about architecture and technology of all kinds. Even the doodle pictures of parachutes he drew in the margin of his notes turned out to be technically perfect designs. He made architectural sketches of churches that looked like seashells or blossoming flowers, none of which got built, because they were too impractical. Most of his ideas were too ambitious for the tools that existed at the time.

Leonardo's notebooks are full of one sentence, repeated again and again, and scholars believe he wrote it whenever he was testing out a newly cut pen. That sentence was, "Tell me, tell me if anything got finished."

From the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily

Thursday, April 14, 2005

Storm 's a Comin' Ma!

Today is the anniversary of Black Sunday, the day in 1935 when a windstorm hit a part of the Great Plains known as the Dust Bowl. That area of farmland, which included parts of Colorado, New Mexico, Nebraska, Kansas, Oklahoma and Texas, was considered some of the most fertile land in America at the turn of the Twentieth Century. Farmers flocked to the area and the wide use of mechanical tractors had plowed up millions of acres of land. When a drought hit the area in the 1930's, and all that plowed up earth turned to dust.

The weather was sunny and calm, and people were on their way home from church, or out visiting friends for lunch, when they saw huge flocks of birds flying south, away from a dark black cloud on the northern horizon. As the cloud approached, people realized that it wasn't a storm cloud, but a cloud of dirt, blown up by the wind.

Witnesses said it was like a black tidal wave came down from the sky. It became as dark as night as soon as the cloud descended. Static electricity stalled cars and shorted out telephone lines. People standing a few yards away from their homes got lost in the darkness, and grabbed onto fence posts to keep from being blown to the ground. It was later estimated that the storm carried 300 million tons of soil through the air.

The term "Dust Bowl" was coined to describe the area hit by the storm. For years people had to live with dust that got into flour bins and on walls and windows. People had to wash their dishes before they put them on the table, because they were so covered with dirt.

Farmers would hang wet blankets across their windows, and they went to bed with wet cloths across their faces. People woke up some mornings to find the area around their houses buried under piles of dust, like snowdrifts. The condition of the land eventually forced most families to join the great migration west to California.

From the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

Congradulations Dr. Jerk

Doctor Jerk may have graduated from a highly respectable medical school, but none of the respectability rubbed off. Dr. Jerk, with little more than 15 minutes worth of diagnosis over a two year period, has basically dismissed my wife's terrible stomach condition as being non-existent. The pain isn't real, the cramps are not real, the fever that accompanies the former is also not real. All of this things must be in my wife's imagination because Dr. Jerk knows, and his advice on how to deal with these symptoms, which are not real? Just live with them. Dr Jerk, your parents must be so proud.

It is a good thing I am 400 kilometers to the south west, or I might be tempted to punch Dr. Jerk in the nose. Maybe I'll just punch a railway spike through his stomach so he can know what it feels like.

Implicitly Neutral.

My parents must have done a good job. You see I was watching American TV in the hotel room, and the news was big on whether or not we could be preferencial towards one race and not know it. Call it accidental racism if you will.

Well being bored and having access to the Net thanks to Westin Hotel, I decided to try out the White-Black Implicit Association Test from Harvard University and the results are in:

“Your data suggest little or no automatic preference for White American relative to African American”

How white bread, academic, and thoroughly middle class Canadian can a response be? So I've got that going for me. Thanks Mom; Thanks Dad. You did good.

See for yourself at Project Implicit.

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

Why am I here?

No, I'm not having a moment of existential angst. Well at least not the important kind. I am wondering why I'm in the middle of Michigan (OK more towards the right hand side of the map), and what is it that I'm supposed to be doing. Sure getting to know the new boss is important, sure looking over the new office location is a worthy thing to do, but I'm also trying to oversee a remote training site installation in 5 cities across North America, and I'm trying to do it from a hotel room on a cell phone. And it's not going well. VPN devices needing configuration on the fly, some not working at all. Everybody upset in 3 time zones.

Perhaps I'm here to learn how to juggle. Perhaps I'm here to listen to the sound of one hand clapping. Or maybe John Paul was right (Sarte not the Papal one)... Maybe it has no meaning at all.

I'm a Link Library?

You are .dll You are dynamic.  You are constantly in danger of bringing down the house, because you don't play well with others.
Which File Extension are You?

Found on The Acting Artist

Galileo, Apologies Too Late

It was on this day in 1633 that Galileo was put on trial for publishing evidence that the sun and not the earth is the center of the solar system. He was a devout Catholic but didn't believe his ideas should threaten the church. He wrote, the “Holy Sprit intended to teach us in the Bible how to go to Heaven, not how the heavens go.”

“the Holy Sprit intended to teach us in the Bible how to go to Heaven, not how the heavens go.”

(Further reading list available at Amazon Canada, US and UK)


Galileo had gotten into trouble with the church about his ideas before, but he thought the new Pope Urban VIII might be more open-minded. Galileo visited him and brought along his microscope, hoping to dazzle him with its power to enlarge objects and bring them closer. After a few hours of demonstrations, Galileo asked if the ban on sun-centered teaching could be lifted. The Pope said that if Galileo wanted to write about his theories, he had to present them as theories only, and couldn't present them as the truth.

So Galileo wrote a book in which three friends discuss whether the earth or the sun is the center of the solar system. The book presented the sun-centered argument as convincing and the earth-centered argument as idiotic, but at the very end, the three characters agree that no one really knows the truth. When it was published, the book became a best-seller.

The pope decided Galileo's book had crossed a line, and mocked the church, and he ordered the printing stopped, all copies seized, and Galileo was put on trial for heresy. Galileo was sentenced to house arrest.

In 1636 he developed an infection in his right eye and because of his house arrest he could not seek treatment. Two years later he was blind. He wrote to a friend in a letter, “By my remarkable observations, the sky...was opened a hundred or a thousand times wider than anything seen by the learned of all the past centuries. Now, that sky is diminished for me to a space no greater than that which is occupied by my own body.”

It took more than 350 years for Pope John Paul II to declare, in 1992, that Galileo had been unjustly condemned by the Catholic Church.

From the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily.

Additional links by me.

Monday, April 11, 2005

The Memory of Smell


Heartland


While drivng through the heartland of Southern Ontario (the really flat space between London and Sarnia), one discovers a memory that was thought to be burried deep, deep, deep, in the past. One discovers that no matter how hard you try, You cannot escape the unmistakable smell of a hog farm. The putrid pungent perfume of the common farm pig is an assualt on the olfactory senses that you don't soon forget. Ah memories of being a boy on the farm, rubber boots mucked up deep in slop. You try to wash, but like the blood on Lady Macbeth's hand it just doesn't come off. In the lady's case, it is just unsightly. In the case of a hog farmer, it is a very public thing.

Ah memories... now roll up the F@#$%& window will ya?

Posted from the Hotel Bar... Drinking Samuel Adams beer

The Journey West Begins

Into the West. Too bad it's not from the Grey Havens, but my Tolkeinesque geekiness would be showing, wouldn't it. Today I start the trek to beautiful downtown Southfield Michigan. (Check the Route) (Heck Check the satellite Photos!) (displays better in Firefox)

I have no idea what I'm going to do when I get there, but work is an adventure. The first piece of good fortune is that my car rental, a mid-sized Pontiac, had to be replaced (at no extra charge) with a really cool half-pickup SUV. I know it's bad for the environment, and I promise to feel bad about it later. For now, however, “whee!!!!!!!”

I've got my laptop, I've got my camera, but even better than that, I've got a Corporate Credit card.

Poetic Birthday

It's the birthday of poet Mark Strand, (books by this author) born in Summerside, Canada (1934). He spent his early childhood on Canada's Prince Edward Island, but his father worked as a salesman, the family had to move to a series of cities across the United States. He originally wanted to be a painter, but when he went to Yale for graduate school he got much more praise for his writing than his painting. He said, “You don't choose to become something like a poet. You write and you write, and the years go by, and you are a poet”.

“You don't choose to become something like a poet. You write and you write, and the years go by, and you are a poet”


He made a name for himself with his first two books of poetry Sleeping with One Eye Open (1964) and Reasons for Moving (1968), books full of dark, dream-like poems about people digging tunnels in their front yards and mailmen arriving at the door in the middle of the night.

He became the fourth national Poet Laureate in 1990, and he received dozens of angry letters when he announced that he would not write any poems for national public figures, even if the president's dog died. He said, "On the death of my own dog—if I had a dog—I'd be quite capable of writing about her demise. But the President's life is so detached from mine, it would be hard for me to internalize it."

He has since gone on to write more autobiographical poetry in books such as Dark Harbor (1993) and Blizzard of One (1998) which won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry, and Chicken, Shadow, Moon & More (2000), which includes his drawings.

From the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily

Sunday, April 10, 2005

Free Again

Just when I was about to abandon all hope, doesn't the blogger.com support staff come through with some amazing stuff. Picasa works again, w.blogger works again and what great timing! I'm leaving tomorrow afternoon on my drive to Michigan that was interrupted two weeks ago by the plague. Would hate to be on the road and not have suitable blogging tools. Oh Joy. Oh bliss. Oh crap I have to go to Michigan.

Saturday, April 09, 2005

If I Was an O/S


You are Slackware Linux. You are the brightest among your peers, but are often mistaken as insane.  Your elegant solutions to problems often take a little longer, but require much less effort to complete.
Which OS are You?

Found in the Secret Garden.

The Lamb Lies Down

The Lamb of march is a few weeks late, but he is finally here. The snow is gone, he cold is gone, and now we can settle in to do what comes naturally in the spring... No, I'm not talking about sex, I speak, rather, of canine excrement removal. Three large dogs, two feedings a day, a long cold winter - you do the math.

Spring at last
Spring at Last

The yard is festooned with the reminders of dog meals past. My mission today, should I decide to accept it, with the full knowledge of knowing that not accepting it means severe limitations of future possibilites of that other spring activity with the Mrs being curtailed, is to unfestoon the yard. Oh Joy. Oh Bliss. It's a good thing I've got a son at the age where yard work dividends will be paying off. “Hey son, ever want to play video games again?” It's a cruel life lesson, but a necessary one.

Book Crossing

Bookcrossing n. the practice of leaving a book in a public place to be picked up and read by others, who then do likewise. (added to the Concise Oxford English Dictionary in August 2004)

I got this in an e-mail from a friend. What a cool concept. You read a book; you register a book; you release a book for others to read. It's like a literary treasure hunt and journey of discovery all rolled into one. Surf on over and see for yourself. You never know what is just waiting around the corner.

I found this cool site for book lovers...

BookCrossing.com

...and thought you would appreciate it. The website encourages people to Read, Register, and then Release their books "into the wild" and then track where they go and the lives they touch. Great concept... share your books and follow their progress forever. Best of all, it's FREE.

Help spread the word by forwarding this to your friends, and of course be sure to visit www.BookCrossing.com!


Commit random acts of literacy! Read & Release at Book Crossing


Read and Release at BookCrossing.com...

Free is Not Always Good

Back in March I ruminated about being kind to blogger.com (Money for Nothing and Your Blogs for Free), because it is a pretty good blogging system and it is free. I suppose they are victims of their own popularity and did not expect the incredible demand for a pretty good blogging platform. Well lately it's becoming less pretty.

“Oh dilemma! Oh misfortune! Oh credit card!”

My photoblog is at a standstill because the Picasa / Hello / Blogger.com combination for posting photos has stopped working. I've tried everything I know to get it to work; but it doesn't. I spend time on google groups commiserating with other stymied photobloggers on the google group Picasa waiting for the rain that will end this drought.

I've tried using the Flickr.com system for photos, and I'm actually finding that I like it better. My issue is that to be of an real use to me, it will cost money. The free system just won't let me post the number and size of photos I want to. Oh dilemma! Oh misfortune! Oh credit card! But if I'm going to start shelling out cash, then maybe I should just go and get a hosting site and move all my stuff there.

And w.blogger can no longer post to the API of blogger.com (and their site got hacked too), so I'm back to using the web interface... another nail for the coffin I fear. Free is nice, but it's not always good. Especially if it stops working altogether.

Things to ponder about.

Then it was Blue and Gray, Now It's Blue and Red.

On this day in 1865, on a Palm Sunday, the American Civil War officially ended. General Robert E. Lee surrendered to General Ulysses S. Grant at a farmhouse in the village of Appomattox Court House, Virginia. The following day, General Lee issued his last order to his men, in which he said: “I need not tell the brave survivors of so many hard-fought battles, who have remained steadfast to the last, that I have consented to the result from no distrust of them. But valor and devotion could accomplish nothing that could compensate for the loss [of more men]. I bid you all an affectionate farewell.”

From the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily

Thursday, April 07, 2005

These Words had Worth

It's the birthday of William Wordsworth, (books by this author) born in Cockermouth, Cumbria (1770). As a young man, he embraced the politics of the French revolution. The poems in his first collection, Lyrical Ballads, used such fresh and simple words that critics did not know what to make of them. As time went on, he began to worry more about money. He got a government job, and wrote a tourist guidebook about the Lake District. At the end of his life, he accepted the post of England's poet laureate. The younger generation felt Wordsworth had given up every ideal he'd ever stood for. Very late in his life, he wrote letters to the newspaper protesting the extension of the Kendal and Windermere railway into the Lake District. He said it would bring hordes of working-class tourists into a beautiful place they hadn't been trained to appreciate properly. The railway line was not extended, and to this day there is no rail service inside the Lake District.

From the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily

Wednesday, April 06, 2005

Now That's Love

Further reading list available at Amazon Canada, US and UK

On this day in 1327, the poet Petrarch saw Laura for the first time, (books by this author) It was on Good Friday, in the church of Saint Claire in Avignon. Her identity has never been confirmed; some scholars doubt she actually existed. Petrarch dedicated three hundred and sixty-six sonnets to her, some of which were written long after her death.

From the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily.

Additional links by me.

Monday, April 04, 2005

Still a Worthy Dream

Further reading list available at Amazon Canada, US and UK

It's the anniversary of the assassination of the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr., in Memphis, Tennessee (1968). King's friend Ralph Abernathy was in the room at the Lorraine Motel when King was shot on the balcony. Long afterward, he said he remembered the smell of the aftershave he had on his hands, and a sound like a firecracker from out on the balcony. It took several hours for the news to spread; a curfew had been declared in Memphis, and news crews had gone home. In Indianapolis, Robert Kennedy told his campaign audience the news; they wept. On Broadway, actors announced the death from the stage. There were riots in sixty cities.

From the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily.

Additional links by me.

Sunday, April 03, 2005

Feeling Gravatar's Pull

The next thing in the blogsphere. I got myself a gravatar. So now when I post comments on your blog (assuming it is gravatarationally enabled) you will get a little tiny grapical representation of me there as well as my words. It's like vanity plates for the bloggernauti set. For my image I've chosen a crop of the work Son of Man by Rene Magritte (1964). I could say something wonderfully intellectual about my choice and it's deep symbolic meaning, but I just liked it in the movie The Thomas Crown Affair (IMDB, Available at Amazon Canada, US and UK).


Global Ric


“A gravatar, or globally recognized avatar, is quite simply an 80×80 pixel avatar image that follows you from weblog to weblog appearing beside your name when you comment on gravatar enabled sites. Avatars help identify your posts on web forums, so why not on weblogs?”
So why not surf on over to www.gravatar.com and get one for yourself?

Were's the Lamb?

It is a well known fact that March is supposed to come in like a lion and leave like a lamb. I of course am wondering where the hell the lamb is? This year March came in like a lion, roamed around a bit, and promptly moved in the whole pride. They're still here, in all their Marchy lion-like madness, hurling rain here, snow squalls there. Forget April showers bring May flowers; these royal felines of the meteorological set have an extended contract, and they're leaving bloody large cat sh*te in the gardens anyway. May flowers are not going to be pretty.


I got up and there was a half a foot of the white fluffy stuff all over the ground. I took a picture, so check it out for yourself. Depressing isn't it. Mind you if this was November, and I was expecting a visit from Old Man Winter, it would be less depressing. But as it stands the snow is still coming down; I hear the sounds of March Lions laughing. When that freaking lamb shows, I've got a barbeque and some mint jelly waiting.

Saturday, April 02, 2005

Chemistry Doesn't Lie

I disliked chemistry in high school. I disliked it immensly, with the possible exception of the time that I inadvertantly created a flamethrower out of a test tube, some purple powder, a bunsen burner, and a singular inattention to what I was doing. The rasied eyebrow of the teacher indicated that he thought I was not bound for M.I.T. Yet here I am taking another silly quiz; this one is about chemistry. Again I am struck by the accuracy.

Y...Yttrium
You scored 40 Mass, 19 Electronegativity, 60 Metal, and 0 Radioactivity!

Yttrium? Yttrium??? You're messing with me, right? That's not a real element. Really? If you say so. Okay... how about: You are really a solitary creature, and you're somewhat set in your ways. You work, consciously or subconsciously, towards the betterment of society, but I guess you do this by befriending it's strangest elements. You're kind of a spaceman/woman, but in the end you're allright. You should try to be with the benign weirdos of the world because, by goodness, no one else will. Oh, it says here that you are abundant on the moon.

Interpret as you will.

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:
You scored higher than 53% on Mass
You scored higher than 13% on Electroneg
You scored higher than 53% on Metal
You scored higher than 1% on Radioactivity
Link: The Which Chemical Element Am I Test written by effataigus on OkCupid Online Dating

The April Fool is Me

“All the responsibility, none of the authority”


First day back at the offices of Gigantic Concrete after having the flu, and I'm in the middle of a political sh*te storm. So I suppose the bloom is already off the rose at this new place. I was hired to be the manager, I was told I was the manager, and now all of a sudden I'm the unannounced, interm, we'll test you out, manager. Something is rotten and we're not even close to Denmark. I also discovered that the huge intergalactic sized megaproject I'm now "responsible" for, has a completely unrealistic target date looming by the end of April. A date I was conveniently not told about when I got the project short days ago. It's like someone left a burning bag of poo on my door, rang the bell and ran away. Now its just me standing on the porch, fire out with crap all over my shoes. All the responsibility, none of the authority. I am dreading a return of the beloved one in a different form. I'm thinking about what to do this weekend and should have a better idea on Monday. On a positve note, political forces high above seem to be marshalling to resolve the issue before it gets out of hand. There is still hope.

There's A Reason He's Called “Great ”



(Further reading list available at Amazon Canada, US and UK)


It's the birthday of Charlemagne, born on this day in Ingelheim, Germany (742). He never learned to read or write, and he used a template to sign documents. Although he couldn't read, he admired scholars who could, and he brought as many as he could to his court. Up until that time, most schooling had been limited to the study of sacred texts. Charlemagne started schools that taught all kinds of worldly knowledge, and said that they should "make no difference between the sons of serfs and of freemen, so that they might come and sit on the same benches to study grammar, music and arithmetic." He tried to get all his subjects to speak the same form of early German, so they'd stop praying in mutually incomprehensible dialects.

From the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily

Aditional links by me.

Friday, April 01, 2005

Le Grande Boom

On this day in 1948, the scientific journal Physical Review published the first credible paper describing the Big Bang theory. Up until that time, the Big Bang theory and the Steady State theory had been equal competitors. The new paper gave a convincing mathematical account of what had happened during the first few minutes of the life of the universe, and offered an explanation for why there was so much helium in stars, which the Steady State theory had not been able to do. The three authors of the paper were listed as Alpher, Bethe and Gamow, but in fact the physicist Hans Bethe hadn't contributed anything to the paper at all. George Gamow and his student Ralph Alpher asked him if he would agree to be listed, so that the author list would read like the first three letters of the Greek alphabet—Alpha, Beta and Gamma.

From the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily